


Enemies Foreign and Domestic

by romanticalgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:30:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers gets pulled out of the war zone to babysit the president's son, who just happens to be someone he knew a long time ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enemies Foreign and Domestic

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my AMAZING artist johanirae who did such a fantastic job with the illustrations and was a joy to work with (See just the [art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2625245/) here)

Steve gets pulled from a recon mission by a direct order. He’s not happy about it, but even he can’t argue with the President. He’s not 100% sure who that is, since he’s spent so much time out of the country he’s sworn to protect and serve, but he’s always fought for an ideal, not a person, so whatever’s engraved on the nameplate doesn’t really matter.

He gets stateside and a black sedan is waiting for him on the tarmac. He barely has time to get in before it’s whipping through DC streets, a woman dressed all in black at the wheel. “You’re Rogers?”

“I hope so. Otherwise you’ve picked up the wrong guy.”

She’s wearing sunglasses, but she looks at him in the rear view mirror. He doesn’t like not being able to see her eyes. “Pretty sure it’s hard to mistake anyone for you.”

“You’ve seen one soldier, you’ve seen them all.”

“No. That’s definitely not the case.” She drives down an alley and then pulls the car into a garage. He recognizes reinforced steel when he sees it, so he knows that, wherever they are, it isn’t what it appears to be on the outside. She gets out of the car and waits for him. She seems patient, but he can almost see the seconds ticking off in her head. He gets out and looks her over. Black slacks that are too tight to be regulation and a white dress shirt that doesn’t do anything to hide her figure. He imagines she’s good at distracting people. “Natasha Romanoff.”

“Steve Rogers.” He takes her outstretched hand and shakes it evenly. It’s a test to see how he’ll react to her. He’s a crappy liar and an even worse poker player, but he can tell when he’s being sized up. “But you knew that.”

“I did. This way.” She turns sharply on her heel and heads toward a door. Steve follows behind her and catalogs what he’s walking into. More steel. Thick cables running along the floors. A weird buzzing energy. Natasha opens the door and everything clicks into place as she reveals a bank of computers and wall-sized screens, security camera feeds and the smell of scorched coffee. “Fury wants to talk to you.”

“Am I supposed to know who Fury is?”

“This way.” She nods to another female agent dressed similarly to her as they walk into the next room. “This is Agent Hill.”

Steve nods. “Ma’am.”

Natasha shakes her head. “Agent. Not ma’am. I know you’re a nice guy. Don’t be a sexist.”

“I was being respectful.”

“Calling her Agent is respectful. New world order, Captain.”

“You’ve never met a soldier, have you?”

“I’ve met plenty.” Natasha opens another door and steps aside so Steve can proceed her into the room. He knows it’s another test, so he just keeps walking. There’s a man standing at a desk, facing away from there and staring at another row of screens. “Fury?”

The man turns around and Steve looks him over silently. This is a man who is very good at poker. “Captain. Have a seat.”

“Is someone going to tell me what this is about? Sir?”

“Sit. Please.” Steven can tell it takes an effort for him to say the last word, so he sits. Romanoff stands next to the door. “The reason you’re here, Captain, is because you have a new mission. It’s important.”

“I’d hope so, given what you pulled me out of to get me here.”

“There have been significant threats to invaluable American assets. We’re assigning the safety of one of these assets to you.”

“Guard duty?” This time Steve doesn’t add the sir.

“Not exactly.” The room lights dim and an image comes up on the screen. Something hits Steve hard and sharp in the chest as he stares at the series of clips. “Babysitting.”

Steve can feel Natasha’s eyes on him so he swallows and forces himself to talk. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“This is James Buchanan Barnes, stepson of President Alexander Pierce.”

“And?” He’s gripping the arms of his chair as tightly as he can, holding on to keep himself from reacting. 

“We’ve recently had several threats against the family, credible threats that lead us to think there may be someone in the current security detail who has their own agenda. Our division has been assigned the task of negating that threat by providing better security. We need a man on the inside. That’s you.”

“Why him? Why not the president himself?”

“We have a new detail in place for the president. Barnes doesn’t react well to authority. We need someone...”

“You actually used to babysit him. You were fifteen. He was five,” Natasha cuts in. “You grew up in the same neighborhood until his mom remarried and they moved away. You’re part of a good time in his past. He hasn’t reacted well to anyone we’ve put on his detail, so you’re our last hope.” 

Fury glares at her with his one good eye, but then turns to Steve without refuting her words. “We need someone who can control him.”

“And that’s me.”

Natasha pushes off the wall. “We hope. Come with me and we’ll put you to work.”

**

DC is lit up like a Christmas tree, and it’s almost blinding. Steve’s used to dark desert nights where the only thing in the sky is distant stars and mortar fire. His apartment isn’t really that. It’s a room with a bed and a fridge and a hot plate to get him through the first couple of days until the president’s family returns from a trip to Aspen. He been through weapon recertification as well as fittings for a series of suits. He hasn’t had any of his things transferred from storage, but he doesn’t need them to remember.

Bucky had been a loner. Hardly any friends. His mom had started dating someone and was gone a lot. Steve lived nearby and offered to keep an eye on him. The first time Steve came to the house, Bucky had kicked him in the shin and punched him in the stomach and told him to get out. He didn’t need a new dad, and he didn’t need a babysitter. 

Steve had squatted down, putting himself at Bucky’s eye-level. “I’m Steve Rogers. I live down the street.”

“So?”

“So I need to know your name.”

“Why?”

Steve shrugged. “Well, you don’t need a babysitter, but your mom thinks you do. I think you’re the man of the house, and you know what you’re doing. So to make your mom happy, we’re going to have to pretend I’m your babysitter.”

“And what will you really be?”

“Your friend. We’ll hang out. Watch movies. Eat food that would make your mom’s eyes bug out. You can help me with my homework.”

“I’m five.”

“You’re smart. Gotta be to take care of your mom.” Steve winked and held out his hand. “And fool her like this. So. I’m Steve Rogers.”

“I’m James Buchanan Barnes. I hate it.”

“So we’ll call you something else. Jim?”

Bucky had wrinkled his nose. “Ew.”

Steve thought for a moment and then smiled. “Bucky.”

“Bucky.” He’d said the word several times. Testing it out. “Bucky Barnes.”

Steve glanced at Bucky’s hand, waiting for him. Bucky thought for a moment. “I’m not helping with homework. But if you get in fights, I’m tough. So I got your back. Deal?”

“Deal.” Steve smiles. “So let’s try this again. Steve Rogers.”

Bucky reaches out, small hand in Steve’s larger one, and shakes it firmly. “Bucky Barnes.”

“Bucky. I like that. Nice to meet you.”

A car alarm goes off, and Steve starts out of his reverie. He hasn’t seen Bucky in years. Bucky’s mom had married his step dad two years later and they’d moved away. Steve had known he was in local politics, but he didn’t follow him. Steve grew up and joined the Army, working his ass off to get where he is, to be who he is. Moving away from the window he goes over to the bed and strips down, sliding between the cool sheets and hoping for sleep and clarity. He’s more likely to get restlessness and nightmares, but he’ll run in the morning to shake the cobwebs loose before he meets the rest of the team and, whether he’s ready or not, Bucky himself.

**

There’s only one other person out running when he starts before dawn. Steve ignores him, just like the guy ignores Steve, because usually if you’re out there that early, you’re there for a reason. Silence. Solitude. The sound of your own breath shutting up your brain. Steve passes him on his first lap, warning him he’s coming up on his left and nodding to him as he goes past. After that, they fall into an easy rhythm, not that far off from each other. 

The sun starts rising and the heat shimmers above the water. Steve can feel the sweat pooling in the small of his back and along the collar of his shirt as he slows to a jog, then a walk. 

“You Rogers?”

Steve glances to his right and it’s the other runner. He’s Steve’s height, but slimmer. Wiry where Steve is bulked up. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt with an insignia on chest. Steve had seen it and ignored it, but apparently they’re having a discussion. “Yeah.”

“Sam Wilson.” He reaches out to shake Steve’s hand, his grip firm and solid. 

“Are you a suit?”

Sam’s eyebrow shoots up and he looks offended. “Do I _look_ like a suit?”

“Romanoff’s a suit, right? She doesn’t look like a suit. Isn’t that the way it works around here? The suits never look like suits, because the people that look like suits are actually the most ruthless ones?”

“Natasha isn’t a suit. She’s not even close to a suit, and she’d slit your throat if she heard you call her one. Black ops and deep undercover. I was para-rescue and got recruited because they needed to meet a quota.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Good, because it’s not true. And if you thought it was, then you’re a dick. Now I know you’re not.” Sam shrugs. “I ran some covert rescue missions in Afghanistan. Two tours. My wingman got taken out, and that was enough for me. What’s the point in rescuing people if you can’t even save the guy fighting next to you?”

“You don’t believe that.”

Sam sighs. “No. They found me at the VA, trying to help people with PTSD. Reminding them that you have to figure out a way to carry the baggage. They asked me if I wanted to keep doing penance or if I wanted to actively help someone.”

“And you said yes?”

“No. I said I was helping people, and that they could find some other body. Then they looked me over and realized no other body was like my body.”

“So how’d they get you to leave the VA?”

“They didn’t. I work there too. Not as much as I want, but some.” He shrugs and smiles as both of their phones beep simultaneously. “Duty calls.”

“Duty is going to smell like two funky guys.”

“Duty has showers. Come on. Natasha will meet us at the curb.”

**

It’s another sedan, but Natasha takes them somewhere else this time. Steve gets the impression that this is the government approved facility, whereas the other was something less aboveboard. Sam leads the way to the locker room and showers, and Steve stands under the spray with it twisted as hot as it will go for a few minutes then turns it to cold. The towels are standard grade, so they’re rough on his skin as he dries himself off. There’s a locker next to Sam’s with Steve’s name on a plate screwed on at the top, so he opens it to find everything he needs. 

“Is there anything they don’t think of?”

Sam laughs. Steve glances over and Sam tugs on his dress shirt. “You have to buy your own condoms.”

“Does that come up a lot?” Steve rolls his eyes at Sam’s smirk. “No pun intended.”

“I don’t judge a man by his condom count.” Sam finishes his shirt and pulls on his slacks, tucking his shirt in quickly. He’s all efficient movements and loose limbs. Steve envies his relaxed control. “Suit up.”

“Right.” Steve dresses carefully. This is the first time the entire new team has met with the family, but everyone else has worked this kind of detail before. And, as far as he knows, no one else has a personal connection to anyone in the family, so he’s not sure if this is a test for him. He’s not sure why they think he’ll make a difference. It’s been fifteen years. The odds of Bucky remembering him aren’t good. And it’s not like Steve knows anything about the man Bucky’s become. He checks his gun and slides it into the hip holster, then sites along the smaller one and tucks it into the shoulder holster. 

“Who taught you how to dress?” Sam straightens Steve’s tie. “President Pierce. FLOTUS is Mrs. Pierce. Nothing else. Far as most of the world is concerned, she barely exists. Kid is James.”

“Yeah, the whole point is that we’ve met.”

“You met fifteen years ago. You’re not exactly the kid you were then.” Sam shrugs into his jacket. “He isn’t either.”

“I hope not. He was five.” Steve pulls at his tie slightly to loosen it from Sam’s choking knot. “Does he know me? I mean, know I’m coming? Know who I am?”

“As far as I know, no one’s briefed him.” Steve slides his jacket on and exhales as Sam adjusts his own, shaking his shoulders so it falls correctly. “He’s messed up. Acting out. And in a way, I hope he doesn’t remember you, because you’re straight up babysitting detail, man.”

“Right. Let’s go then.”

**

Natasha runs through the introductions and lets the family in on the plan. President Pierce looks bored and Mrs. Pierce looks frightened. Steve had been surprised that she’d made it in Washington DC life. She’d been beautiful when she was younger, and now she has a wholesome look about her that probably appeals to voters. Divorce doesn’t look good in the polls, especially if it’s a family you took on whole. Steve gets the impression she stays out of the way. 

Bucky...Bucky looks good. Steve had looked at some pictures, but they were either stilted family photos or candids that barely captured him. Today he looks like he just got off a long flight. Dressed in sweats and a hoodie, his hands buried in the pockets. His hair is too long for his father’s tastes. Steve can tell just by the not-so-veiled looks that pass between father and son. Steve likes it, framing his face, though the bangs are too long and hide his eyes. 

Sam and Natasha go off with the president and his wife, leaving Steve and Bucky alone. “I don’t need a babysitter.” His voice is rough and plaintive all at once and he finally looks at Steve. Steve recognizes being lost. He’s been there too many times to count. “I’m an adult.”

“You were an adult at five.”

Bucky’s gaze shoots up and his eyes narrow. “How do you know that?”

“We met.”

“What’s your name again?”

“Steve.”

“I knew you?”

“Yeah. We were...business acquaintances.”

Something flashes in Bucky’s eyes, recognition maybe. Maybe not. It’s hard to tell. “I still don’t need a babysitter. I’m a grown man. I’m only living here because my stepfather’s afraid of what I might do to his career if I were on my own. To be honest, if I were on my own, I’d disappear and he wouldn’t have to worry.”

“It’s hard to disappear in today’s world. Everyone’s plugged in, online. And you’re famous.”

“By association.”

“Nowadays I think that’s enough. I don’t intent to dictate what you do. I’m just going to be there wherever you are to make sure that you come home from it alive and intact.”

“His enemies don’t care about me, because he doesn’t care about me.”

Steve knows it’s true, but he’s not going to admit that to Bucky, and really can’t afford to let Bucky admit it to himself. Thinking you’re expendable leads to acting like you’re expendable. “He cares if something happens to you.”

“For his own political reasons.”

“For whatever reason. I won’t be in your way. I’ll just be in the line of fire.”

Bucky laughs, and it’s a twisted kind of sound. “No pressure.”

“Not at all.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“No.”

Bucky nods and heads out of the room. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

Steve follows Bucky, a few steps behind. Bucky gives acidic commentary to the tour, though Steve can still sense some admiration for the history of the place. His patriotism is skewed like a politician’s, but still there, lurking underneath a hard veneer. 

“This is my wing. I like to call it a prison.”

“I’ve been in prisons. This isn’t one.”

“Not all prisons look the same. Some of them look like boarding schools. Some of them look like military schools. Some of them look like Yale and Harvard and Princeton. Some of them look like this. Gilt and glamor over form and function. Windows are reinforced glass. Just as hard to get through as metal bars.”

“You have a key.”

“And an armed guard wherever I go.” He opens the door to another room, and this one looks lived in. It’s dark, black and silver with some swathes of red. The bed is rumpled and there are books piled up on the nightstand. The back of one chair is draped in clothes, and there are weights in a corner. “This is the inner sanctum. Where James Buchanan Barnes, named after one of the worst presidents in history, hides from the world.”

“And his father?”

“I’m not afraid of my stepfather. But, yeah. I guess from him too.” He sits on the edge of the bed and looks up at Steve through his bangs. “So how does this work?”

“I don’t really know. You’re my first security detail.”

Bucky laughs and there’s a hint of the smile Steve remembers. “I guess that illustrates better than anything the hierarchy of my importance.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m not good at what I do.” Steve leans against the wall and watches him. He can feel a familiar twist of desire in his gut. Bucky grew up really well, and Steve’s only human. He pushes the feeling away, because pushing it down would only send it directly to his groin, and that’s the last thing he wants. DADT has been repealed, but Bucky’s his job. His mission. And Steve can still see a ghost of the kid he’d been in his face. “I’ll be with you when you go out. I’ll be close by for when you sneak out.”

“I don’t sneak. I simply evade.”

“I’ll be there if you get into trouble. If all goes well, you’ll never know I’m there.”

He laughs, really just an exhaled breath. “I’ll know.”

**

Bucky cuts him slack the first two days while everyone gets settled. They don’t tell Bucky what the threat is, but Steve does, refusing to go into a mission with everyone blind. He doesn’t seem worried, especially when, on the third night, Steve hears Bucky leave his room. Steve gets out of bed and tugs his jeans on before slipping into a light jacket to hide his gun. Bucky didn’t lie. He doesn’t sneak, but he is quiet and careful. He obviously knows where the alarms are, where the trip lights are hidden. He makes it to the garage and then stops, turning to look at Steve. “Do you want a ride?”

“I’ll follow you.”

“Try to keep up.”

Steve kicks his motorcycle into gear as Bucky starts the car, roaring out of the garage. Definitely not sneaking. He leads Steve on a race through the city, weaving between cars easily. Steve tilts the bike and follows him through every swerve, keeping one eye on where they’re going.

DuPont Circle isn’t an area Steve frequents for the same reason the majority of the service people he knows don’t frequent it. Theory and practice are two very different things. He parks the bike and follows Bucky into the thick of the crowd. Steve wonders if this is a test, but several people greet Bucky, obviously friendly if not friends. They all call him James, and it still sounds strange to Steve’s ears. 

Steve leans against the counter in one of the corners of the bar, drinking a bottled water and keeping an eye on Bucky’s drink. As far as he can tell, Bucky ignores him completely, flirting and dancing and drinking as if Steve’s not even there.

“Rogers? Where are you?”

“At a bar with Barnes.” He pretends to take a drink from his water to hide the fact that he’s talking. “Did we know he was gay?”

Natasha’s voice sharpens. “Is that a problem for you?”

So their intel is good, but not that good. “No. It just would have been nice to know what I was walking into so I didn’t make an ass out of myself.” Steve shakes his head at the person across the bar who raises their glass in his direction. 

“Your job is to protect the president’s son. Do I make myself clear?”

“Loud and.” He cuts the connection and tracks Bucky onto the floor. He’s dancing with a guy roughly his size who has one arm lightly around Bucky’s waist, grinding against him slowly. Steve finishes his water and slides a tip across the bar. The bartender slides a matchbook back to him, a number scrawled on the inside cover. Steve nods and sweeps the room, his eyes coming back to Bucky. He tucks the matchbook into his front pocket and keeps moving around the room, looking for anything out of place, any threat.

Instead the only thing he sees is Bucky and the guy he’s dancing with getting closer, Bucky’s hands moving up and down the guy’s back. He’s not sure what his job is if Bucky goes home with this guy, if he’s supposed to follow them and sit outside or listen outside the door or what. If it were Sam on the other end of the comms, he’d ask. The thought of asking Natasha makes him feel like an idiot or, worse yet, a prude.

“The press got wind of where he is.” Natasha’s voice is short and clipped, loud in his ear. “Try to get him out of there in one piece and without the paparazzi seeing you. The last thing we need the first week into this is a scandal.”

“Do we have an ETA?”

“Roughly five minutes depending on traffic. Hill’s trying to slow them down with streetlights, but I’m not sure how good they are at obeying the law.”

Steve doesn’t bother signing off. He wades through the crowd of drinkers and dancers and dislodges the guy’s hand from the small of Bucky’s back. He leans in and whispers in Bucky’s ear. “Let’s go.”

“I’m having fun.”

“You’re also about to be on the gossip pages, and I’d like to avoid that.”

“Don’t want to be caught in a gay club, Captain?”

“I don’t want whoever might be after you to get some idea of where you’re hanging out. I know you’re not interested in making my job easier, but I’m hoping you’re not interested in making theirs easier either.” He smiles at Bucky’s dancing partner. “He’ll be in touch.”

“I was already in touch.” Bucky shakes off Steve’s grip and steps away from him. “Let me guess, they didn’t tell you the not-so-golden boy liked guys? And you’re some homophobic asshole?”

“No, they didn’t tell me you liked guys.” He guides Bucky to his bike, avoiding Bucky’s car where there are a few people not-so discreetly leaning against the building next to it. 

“Did they tell you I’m an addict?”

“No. They left that out too.” Steve’s going to have a word with Natasha and Fury. “It would have been nice to know so I could have adjusted how to protect you.”

“From as far away as possible?”

Steve straddles the bike. “Get on.”

Bucky glares at him for a long minute until he sees the paparazzi glance in their direction, then he climbs on behind Steve and wraps his arms around his waist. “You might get infected with gay.”

“Just don’t fall off. I’d hate to do the hard work for them.” He starts the bike and roars out of his parking spot, turning onto the next street and settling on a steady speed. He can’t hear if Bucky’s saying anything, but Steve can feel the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest against his back. 

“At your six.” Sam’s voice is reassuring, and Steve pulls over, glancing at the black sedan. Sam rolls down the front window and waves. “Nice night for a ride.”

“Just enjoying the scenery.” Steve kills the bike and balances it against his inner thigh. Bucky doesn’t move, and doesn’t look at Sam. “You the taxi service?”

“Something like that. Thought a little more incognito would be better. The press has realized he’s not at the club, and are scouting now. Not a lot of protection on a bike.”

“I’ll follow you.”

“Don’t want to be ‘the mystery man’?” Bucky smirks as he climbs off the bike. “Why am I not surprised.”

“The fewer people know about me the better. The whole point is for me to be there when people don’t think I am.”

“Then maybe don’t interrupt my evening.”

“Maybe let me know when you have a date.”

“A date?” Bucky laughs and shakes his head. “You’re a funny guy, Steve.” He gets in the car and slams the door shut behind him. Sam shrugs and rolls up the window and pulls away. Steve starts the bike again and pulls back onto the road.

“Yeah. I’m a riot.”

**

“So, what did you do before me?”

Steve looks up from his book and blinks a few times before glancing at Bucky. “Pardon?”

“Before you were stuck with me and babysitting duty. What did you do?”

“Army. I was over in Afghanistan.”

“Wow. What’d you do to get demoted?” He’s working on something on his laptop. Steve’s not actually sure what Bucky does, and he doesn’t plan on asking. “Sleep with the Captain’s daughter?”

“I am the Captain, actually.”

“General’s daughter then.”

“Nope. Just lucky.”

“You and I have very different definitions of lucky. I have a meeting tomorrow at nine. I assume you’re tagging along.”

“Unless I get fired or you get killed. Which would probably lead to me getting fired.”

“You’re a cheery guy.” Bucky smirks at him and closes his laptop. “You have to let me know when you sleep.”

“Why? So you can sneak out?”

“No, because I’m beginning to think you don’t. It kind of freaks me out.” He leans back against the pillows pushed up against the headboard and folds his arms, hands behind his head. He’s wearing a t-shirt that clings to him, especially the curve of his shoulder and bicep. “You have a girlfriend?”

“No. I just got back from Afghanistan.”

“No long distance love affair?”

“My life doesn’t really lend itself to relationships. I go deep recon for months on end and then I get shipped to the states to live in the White House. Sort of wreaks havoc on a relationship.” He closes his book, finger holding his place. “Why do you ask about a girlfriend?”

“What do you mean? Oh, because of being gay? Well, statistically, the odds of you having a girlfriend are much greater than of you having a boyfriend. And because you’re the straightest arrow I’ve ever seen. Ergo, girlfriend.” He lets his eyes roam over Steve’s body, lingering in places that make heat pool at the base of Steve’s dick. He licks his lips before he looks up to meet Steve’s eyes.“Besides, you being interested in guys would turn this into some sort of gay porn fantasy. You’ve actually heard of porn, right?”

“I’m in the _Army_.”

Bucky laughs. “Right. Sorry. So, if I promise to go to bed like a good boy, will you actually sleep tonight? Tomorrow’s meeting is a public forum. The whole detail is going to be there for my father, but I’d like to know my bodyguard is on his toes.”

“And here I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I never said that.” Bucky gets up and tugs off his shirt, tossing it onto the pile on the chair. “Let me guess, your place is immaculate, right? Hospital corners, creases in your t-shirts, ironed underwear?”

“Not quite.” Steve tries to avert his eyes, but he keeps glancing at the slope of Bucky’s back. “I do actually keep my clothes in the drawers though. It’s almost like they’re made for that specific purpose.”

“And here I thought you were a rebel.” Bucky undoes his jeans and steps out of them, just wearing a pair of boxer briefs. He looks at himself in the mirror, pulling his hair back from his face. “I need to get my hair cut, but my dad will actually approve.”

“And that’s bad.”

“Even if it’s my decision, it’s a victory for him. You think you can be ready by seven tomorrow?” He grins at Steve’s reflection in the mirror. There hasn’t been a morning since this started that Bucky’s gotten up and Steve hasn’t been ready. 

“I’ll set my alarm.” He nods at Bucky in the mirror and heads for the door. “Goodnight.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” He glances back and Bucky’s looking at him, eyes dark. “I can’t get anyone to tell me how you know me. How I’m supposed to know you. I mean, you seem familiar, but...”

“It’s not important.” He sketches a wave. “Goodnight, Buck.”

“Buck?” His brow furrows and he shakes his head. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing. Just an Army thing.” Steve leaves the room and shuts the door behind him, closing his eyes and cursing himself under his breath. “Hey, Sam? The rest of the house down for the night?”

“Yeah. Snug as bugs in rugs.”

“You want to keep an eye on James while I go for a run?”

“You don’t trust the bad seed?”

“I trust him. I just don’t think he’ll stay put.”

“Let me put Hill on it. I’ll run with you if you want company.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll meet you in twenty in the garage.” He changes clothes and puts on his running shoes, trying to ignore the voices and memories in his head. Bucky had actually become a friend. As ridiculous as it sounds. A friend. A brother. Something. And being forgotten stings more than he wants to admit. He heads down to the garage and appreciates Sam’s silence as they head up 16th Avenue. He hits the hill a mile in and takes off with a burst of speed he’ll probably regret later. The hard pound of the pavement beats out the voices in his head though, and he can listen to that and the beat of his heart instead of anything else. 

He slows his pace eventually, and Sam catches up to him. They run in silence, circling the Lincoln Memorial before heading to the Capitol, clouds of breath forming in the night air. They both slow to a walk when they reach the National Aquarium. “Better?” Sam asks.

“Quieter.” Steve puts his hands on his hips as they head up 15th, taking a deep breath and then blowing it up toward the sky. “Is Romanoff going to kick my ass for keeping you out all night?”

“What?” Sam looks at him quickly, eyes sharp.

“Oh, come on. You guys put me on this detail. You think I wasn’t going to notice that you’re sleeping together?”

They flash their badges to get back into the residence, heading for the gym for towels. “You sure you want to go there, friend?” 

“No. I’m not.” Steve laughs and grabs a towel, scrubbing it across his face. “What does he actually do?”

“The President?”

“No.” Steve smirks in Sam’s direction. “I know his basic job description.”

Sam shrugs tugs off his shirt, wiping his chest and underarms. “Barnes is smart as shit. Part of a bio-software division at a Virginia based company. Most people think he got the job because of his daddy, but Barnes worked his way up to the top, nepotism be damned.”

Steve frowns, picturing the determined face he’d seen when Bucky had kicked him the first time they’d met, the way he’d clenched his teeth and stared straight ahead when they’d moved, refusing to cry when he’d said goodbye. He aches for that kid. He aches for that kid in himself too. “He says he’s got a meeting in the morning.”

“Yeah. I guess you could call it that.”

“What does that mean? I’m getting really tired of not being given the specifics of the case I’m working on.”

“We’re going to the UN. Barnes’s company has created a vaccine that cures Ebola. And it minimizes the effects of a bunch of other stuff as well if you believe the press release. And Barnes has been elected the political face of the company whether he wants to be or not. So he’s going to be there sharing the stage with the President while he makes the announcement.” Sam yawns and stretches his arms over his head. “You could come to a meeting once in a while.”

“If I went to a meeting, Barnes would be halfway to Tahiti right now.”

“Tahiti doesn’t seem his style.” Sam walks down the hall toward Bucky’s wing with him. “You going to be all right?”

“Yeah. Always.” Steve punches Sam lightly on the arm. “Night, Sam. Say hi to Natasha for me.”

“Shit, man.” Sam laughs as Steve down the hall. 

Hill is standing outside the door, rolling her eyes. She nods toward Bucky’s door. “How do you put up with this guy?”

“You get used to a lot of things in the Army. What’d he do to you?”

“From what I can tell, he was just himself. I think he’s asleep now. Mostly because I shot him with a tranq gun.”

“You didn’t.”

“Just a little bit. I left it on your bed for the future.” She heads out and Steve goes into his room, not surprised at all to see she wasn’t lying. He stores the gun in the drawer in his nightstand and stretches out on the bed. He should shower and crash for the night since Bucky’s actually, honestly out, but he knows he won’t sleep. 

He closes his eyes and he can see Bucky in the mirror again. The dark trail of hair along his abdomen, arrowing down into the waistband of his boxer-briefs. The cotton stretched over Bucky’s ass. The line of his back muscled and smooth. Steve tilts his head back and swallows hard, closing his eyes tighter. It doesn’t do anything to banish the images. Just starts the loop over so Steve can see Bucky pull his shirt over his head, his hair falling back to his shoulders as it comes loose of the fabric. 

Steve licks his lips and swallows again, his throat thick. He slides a hand up his stomach to his chest and then down again, stopping at the waistband of his sweats. He tugs his shirt free and slips his hand beneath it, repeating the slow gesture. His nipples are hard and tight and the smooth fabric of his shirt slides against them. Steve shudders an exhale and presses his thighs together. 

Bucky is behind his eyelids, watching Steve in the mirror. His dark eyes are knowing and Steve can’t breathe. He parts his lips and takes a deep breath as he slides his hand beneath the waistband of his sweats, rubbing his dick through his boxer briefs. His whole body jerks as he bites down on his lip to keep from groaning at the pressure. 

He keeps telling himself it’s wrong. That Bucky’s a kid he knew, but his mind reminds him he’s definitely _not_ a kid. It illustrates it vividly, supplying him with images of Bucky in the club, the looseness of his body and the roll of his hips as he ground against the guy he was dancing with. Steve cants his hips upward and pushes his sweats and briefs down, sliding his palm up his dick from the base to the tip before wrapping his hand around it. 

Steve can’t remember when he jerked off last, probably somewhere in Afghanistan, dug in a hole. He certainly hasn’t since he came back to the states. Hasn’t allowed himself to, especially since he’s been watching Bucky. Bucky’s his job, and nothing more, and he can’t allow himself to think otherwise. But tonight, like this, with Bucky safe in his room, he can’t help but imagine. Fantasize. Bucky’s hands and mouth and body against his, on him.

Steve arches his back, thrusting up into his hand. His thighs are tight as the tension builds. Steve pictures Bucky concentrating, teeth sunk into his lower lip. Sees him undressing Steve with deft hands. Long fingers gliding down Steve’s chest, hand wrapped around him, mouth on his nipples, biting and sucking.

“O-oh,” Steve’s breath shudders out of him as he comes. His hand is wet with it, smearing it against his skin as he keeps stroking until it’s too much to handle. His chest shakes with the aftershocks and he slumps back on his bed. He needs another run. Or to be dumped into the Potomac to cool down. What he really needs, really wants, is Bucky. 

He thinks he should feel bad, feel dirty. Remembering Bucky as a kid and wanting him now. He should, and he feels bad that he doesn’t. Steve sighs on his way to the bathroom, washing his hands and stomach before resting his palms on the counter and stares at himself. He turns sharply on his heel and heads down into the bowels of the house and back down to the gym. He’s not going to sleep at all. Might as well make good use of his time.

**

The press conference is outside, which is the worst scenario in terms of security. Members of the UN are standing around the stage and Bucky and the President as well as the Secretary-General of the UN are front and center. Steve looks around at the press corps, his eyes shaded with sunglasses to block out the bright flash of their cameras. He hasn’t identified any hostiles yet, but he keeps surveying the room. The first attack had been in a motorcade. Some sort of IED that had exploded under the President’s car, flipping it twice. It had remained mostly intact, though the family had been shaken up. It had been a faceless attack so he’s not even sure what he’s looking for really. He learned a long time ago that the people who are the most dangerous sometimes look like the ally rather than the enemy.

Bucky had woken up asking what he’d had to drink, and Steve had played dumb, telling him as far as he knew he’d been sober when Steve went to bed. He still managed to get out of the house at seven, dragging Steve into Maryland to a small salon where he got his hair cut. Steve ignored Bucky laughing and joking with the woman who cut his hair, ignored the few digs about Steve’s hair getting well beyond regulation. She’d offered Steve a cut, free of charge, and he’d managed a smile all the while ignoring Bucky’s smirk. “No, ma’am. Thank you.”

“He’s very polite.” Bucky smiled up at her for a moment before she grabbed his head and turned it back the way she wanted it. After that Bucky had been silent until she was finished, but his gaze kept going back to Steve like he was looking for something.

When she’d finished and Bucky had stood up, Steve excused himself, ducking into the bathroom. With his hair cut, Bucky looked younger in some ways and older in others. It hadn’t suited his t-shirt and jeans as well as his longer hair, but it had looked good all the same.

It looks even better now that he’s wearing his charcoal gray suit with an off-white shirt and a blue silk tie. He’d changed at the venue with Steve right outside the door, and when he’d walked out, Steve had wanted to push him back into the room and strip him right out of the suit again. Instead he’d stood still until Bucky had turned around in a full circle in front of him. “I clean up nice, huh?”

“I have to keep you safe no matter what you look like or what you’re wearing.”

Bucky leaned in and tilted his head so he was looking up at Steve. “You are absolutely no fun.” 

“Fun gets you dead.”

“Would it kill you, or me for that matter, to smile?” The gentle teasing in his voice had made Steve breathe a soft laugh and the corner of his mouth lift. “Oh. Oh. What’s that?”

“You have work to do. And so do I.”

“You sound like the president.” He’d shaken his head. “Just what I need.”

Steve stands off to the left, keeping an eye on the audience as Bucky walks to the podium. He’s a figurehead today, and he’s doing exactly what a figurehead should. Steve’s positive Bucky hates it, and he almost expects him to go off script. He glances up at the dias just as Natasha’s voice echoes through the comms. 

“Clear everyone out. Local police just got a bomb threat.”

Steve nods to Sam and the other agents who come out of the wings. Sam hooks his hand under the president’s elbow, and the five of the Secret Service surround him, guiding him quickly out of sight. Steve holds the front of the platform and leaps up onto the dias as someone starts shouting, causing an uproar in the audience as they all start to panic. “Out. Out. Out.”

“Shooter!” 

Steve doesn’t know who shouts, only knows that everything goes silent in the aftermath of it ringing loud in his ear. He launches himself at Bucky and they both slam into the hardwood, Steve doing his best to turn them to cushion the fall. He hears the shot ricochet off something metal and rolls them over so he’s on top of Bucky in case it comes back their way.

“What the fuck?”

His hearing is faint, but he reads Bucky’s lips and can make out on the comms that people are in pursuit of the shooter and to keep the evacuation going. Fury’s got cars ready to go and Sam and president are en route to the safe house. “Come on.” He rolls off Bucky and grabs his arm, hauling him to his feet. Steve pushes Bucky in front of him to a corner then peers around it, his gun in hand. 

“What the fuck?” Bucky sounds completely bewildered and Steve ignores him. There’ll be time for explanations later.

“Clear. Come on.” He pulls Bucky along, keeping him against the wall with Steve as a shield. “Natasha, we’re heading toward you. As soon as we hit the floor, we need to be Oscar Mike. Two minutes.”

“Shooter is off the premises, but we’re not sure if he’s alone. We’ve got the perimeter surrounded and we’ve got scanners searching everyone as they leave the area.” 

“I’d feel better if we’d done that before someone got a shot off at my charge. When’s the rendezvous?”

“We did.” Her voice is flat, but her tone is sharp. “Don’t know yet. We’ll keep in touch. Romanoff out.”

Steve grits his teeth and presses Bucky to the wall, his hand firmly in the center of his chest. “Don’t move.”

“Not planning on it.” He glances down at Steve’s hand. “Not sure I could.”

Bucky’s shaking with adrenaline, and Steve doesn’t envy him the crash he’s going to have soon. As long as he holds it together long enough for them to get to the safe house, Steve can handle the fallout. Steve releases Bucky and grips his gun, kicking the door open and ducking out of its path, low and fast. He sweeps the room quickly, then leans out and grabs Bucky’s arm. “Come on. Almost there.”

“Oh good. I’m glad there’s a there that we’re almost at. What the fuck was that?”

“Someone shooting at you.” Steve repeats the ritual of pushing him against the wall. The next door is the stairwell to the garage, wide open on all sides. “Condor, I need a go, no go.”

“You’re a go.”

“In ten.” Steve counts to ten under his breath then pushes the door open and ducks down, listening for any sound. He can hear the car purring nearby, but there’s nothing else out of the ordinary. “Condor, what’s your twenty?”

“On your ten.” 

“Roger.” He looks back at Bucky and nods. “Let’s go.”

“Why don’t you say ‘Rogers’?”

“Because the Army isn’t really big on smart-asses.” He keeps Bucky low to the ground and keeps his gun ready, sweeping the garage over and over for hostiles. The sedan pulls up, and he jerks the back door open, shoving Bucky inside before following him in. “Sitrep?”

“Sundance and Sweetheart are secure.”

Steve nods and presses the comm link at his ear. “Snowflake is secure.”

Bucky laughs shakily. “You guys sound like idiots.”

Mark, the driver, looks at Bucky in the rear view mirror. “Idiots that just saved your ass.”

“Yeah, well.” Bucky exhales. “I’m good with that.”

**

When they get to the safe house, the first thing Bucky does is look for booze. Steve had pressured Fury until he’d told him about Barnes’s drug problem – coke and pills mostly – and knows alcohol isn’t the best idea, but he also knows it’s going to do more to help Bucky right now than hurt him. He goes to the cabinet above the fridge and pulls out a bottle of whiskey and pours Bucky a shot. Bucky’s hands are shaking, but he manages to get the glass to his mouth without spilling a drop, though his lips are wet with it when he pulls the glass away. “So. That was getting shot at.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think I like it.”

“It’s not usually big on people’s to-do list.” Steve pours Bucky another glass and then twists the cap back on the bottle and replaces it in the cabinet. “The shock will fade in a bit and you’re going to be exhausted. Physically and mentally. It drains you, plus your brain is processing that the threat is real and I’m not just here for my stunning good looks.”

Bucky snorts and coughs. “So where are we?”

“A safe house. Your parents are each somewhere safe, and we’ll keep you all separated until we’ve finished the interrogation.”

“So they caught the guy?”

“We always get our man.”

“I thought that was the Mounties.”

“Only according to Hollywood. It won’t be safe after the interrogation either, but we’ll get you back to the White House and we’ll hopefully know a little better what we’re looking for – affiliates, associates. Knowing where the threat is coming from always makes things easier.”

“So we get to play bait?”

“Something like that. They should have some of your clothes here if you want to take a shower and change. There’s probably frozen pizza if you’re hungry.”

“Frozen pizza?”

Steve looks in the freezer. “It’s DiGiorno.”

“Well, in that case.” Bucky stops, sounding lost again. “How do you get used to it?”

“You don’t. Not really. You just learn how to keep your head and avoid getting hit. Which can be the same thing.”

“Humor is your response to stress, isn’t it?”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, usually.”

“Great. You’re...that’s great. I’m going to shower. I’ll keep an eye out for masked gunmen.”

“The good ones don’t wear masks, you know. They know you won’t live to tell anyone what they look like.”

“You are _not_ comforting.”

“I could lie to you if it would make you feel better.”

“I don’t believe you.” Bucky sits down on one of the mismatched chairs around the kitchen table. He sprawls in the seat, but Steve can see the tension still coiled in his muscles. “I bet you couldn’t tell a lie to save your life.”

“It’s not my life I have to worry about. It’s yours.”

“Yeah, well, knowing someone else might get shot on my behalf isn’t exactly less stressful.” Bucky rakes a hand through his hair, messing it up completely from the style he’d had that morning. Now it’s loose and hanging in his eyes somewhat, furrows raked through it by his fingers. “I should shower.”

“You should. It’ll help.” Steve pulls the pizza from the freezer and opens the package, reaching over to snap the oven on. “I’ll do my Julia Child impersonation and make dinner.”

“I don’t think she ever made frozen pizza.”

“I bet she did. Gourmet meals all day and all she really wanted was cardboard crust and fake cheese.” Steve smiles at him and Bucky gives him a small smile back. “Go on. It’ll be hot around the edges and still frozen in the middle when you’re done. Mmmm.”

“Sounds tasty.” Bucky heads off to the bathroom and Steve focuses on the pizza, refusing to let his mind wander back to the bathroom. He’s not worried about Bucky trying to leave the safe house – even if he tried, there are guards outside – because Steve can tell Bucky is more freaked out about being shot at than he’s really letting on.

Steve takes a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and cracks it open, downing most of it in a few quick swallows. The cold and wet feel good on his throat. He sets the bottle down and presses his forehead against the refrigerator door.

“Did you want to shower?”

Steve jerks to attention and turns. Getting sneaked up on is not allowed in his job. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

He’s not fine. Bucky is standing in the kitchen doorway in nothing but a pair of jeans and a towel draped around his neck. Droplets of water glisten on Bucky’s skin and the hair on his stomach is dark and wet against his skin. 

“So you don’t get used to it?”

Looking at Bucky is _definitely_ something Steve could get used to. He forces his eyes back to Bucky’s face. Bucky looks thoughtful, the same uncertainty in his eyes. “Get used to what?”

“Getting shot at.”

“Not really. This time was easier than most though.”

“Why?”

Steve smiles. It’s not really funny, but it’s something to ward off all the other feelings crowding in his chest. “He wasn’t shooting at me.”

Bucky coughs, but Steve suspects it’s choked off laughter. “Oh, so this time it wasn’t _personal_.”

“Well, I’d get fired if you got shot, so it’s a little personal.”

“Okay, seriously?” Bucky walks to the table and turns one of the chairs around, straddling it easily. Steve swallows and averts his gaze. “Your morale-boosting skills need some serious work.”

“I’ll mention it at the next staff meeting.” The timer goes off and Steve’s glad to turn away and focus on something else. He pulls the pizza out of the oven and shuts off the heat. “This is pretty much all we’ve got. The only side I can offer you is Cheerios.” 

“I hope you’re not expecting a five star rating on this place.” Steve sets the pan on the table and Bucky reaches for a slice, pulling it until the cheese snaps. “Pizza’ll be fine.” 

“It’s probably hot.”

“Apparently getting shot at makes me hungry.” Bucky takes a bite then licks sauce from his lips before stretching his tongue to catch a drop on his chin. Steve shifts in his chair, forcing his thoughts on tactics rather than what else Bucky might do with his tongue. 

“A second house agent should be here soon with an update. Regardless of what we find out, we won’t leave here tonight. We’ll have to check out all the intel. Besides, night used to be good tactically, but technology has taken away that advantage.”

Bucky takes another bite then covers his mouth as he yawns. “That’s okay. After this, I think I’m going to crash.” He finishes the piece of pizza and takes another. “What are the sleeping arrangements? I only saw one bed.”

“There’s a cot in the back room. Once the other agent gets here, I’ll crash there.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. You do all the work. You should get the good night’s sleep.”

“Until this is over, I’m not allowed a good night’s sleep.”

“That doesn’t actually make me feel better. I’m kind of invested in you being at the top of your game.”

“Don’t worry. Nothing’s more important than you.” Steve realizes with a jolt that he’s telling the honest truth. This Bucky, the real Bucky, is the same defiant kid he’d been back then. The one Steve had admired and envied his bravery. Steve had followed Bucky’s example a lot when he’d gone into the Army. Keeping that same bravado that Bucky’d always had.

Steve’s train of thought derails at a sound right outside the kitchen window. “Get on the floor!” He launches himself over the table, holding onto the edge as he goes over so he can use it as a shield. He hits Bucky hard, slamming him flat onto the ground, the chair skittering out from under him. Steve feels slivers of wood rain down on him as a bullet rips through the table. 

“Shit!” Bucky gasps breathlessly.

“Stay on the floor.” Steve has to talk directly into Bucky’s ear so he can hear him over the gunfire. “Low. Crawl to the living room by the couch.”

“Now’s not the time to watch TV or something.”

A loud bang echoes through the room, and Steve sees the smoke grenade roll past the table and the smoke start spilling out. He shoves Bucky hard. “Now!” Steve pulls his shirt over his face and then covers it with his forearm. He rolls toward the grenade and grabs it, tossing it back toward the window. He shakes his hand at the burn, then elbow crawls into the living room after Bucky.

More gunshots zing through the house, shattering glass and fabric. Steve pushes at the couch until it moves with a click, a carpet covered metal door swinging down silently. “Go.” Steve pulls his gun and faces the room as Bucky slips inside. Steve follows him down feet first and shoves the door into place before triggering the switch to swing the couch back to its original position above them.

Steve grabs two flashlights and one of the survival backpacks off the wall. When he looks over, Bucky’s staring at him. Steve smiles. “What?”

“You’re...”

“Yeah. Here.” Steve goes down on one knee and starts unlacing his boots. “Put these on.”

“Then you’ll be barefoot.”

“I’m better at it.”

Bucky does as Steve says, but he’s still looking at him. “How are you better at being _barefoot_?”

“I walked through the Rigestan desert barefoot for two weeks.” Steve grabs a jacket off the wall. “Put that on and let’s go.”

“Don’t be so cocky.” Bucky pulls the jacket on. “I’ll have you know I’ve walked barefoot through the Rose Garden. Drunk.”

“Well, in that case, maybe I should keep the boots.”

Bucky shakes his head. “No way. What now?”

“This way.” Steve leads them through a series of tunnels only pausing a few times to check nearly invisible markings. It’s not completely by accident that his need to do so coincides with the times when Bucky’s breathing gets rougher, sounding on the edge of overload. Steve keeps listening for the sound of someone following them, but he doesn’t hear anything so he stops at the first set of steps, several miles later.

“Is this it?” Bucky keeps his voice low, barely above a whisper.

“Another couple of miles. Us getting shot at makes me pretty sure something’s been further compromised or we have proof that we’ve got a bad guy in our midst. The tunnels are supposed to be secure to Fury’s team, and no one else, but I’d rather not trust the intel I cam in with. Being down here is risky enough. However, I do trust that Fury’s got a few tricks up his sleeves.”

“So why are we stopping?”

Steve pulls off the backpack and digs out two bottles of water. “Drink up.”

“You were a Boy Scout, weren’t you?”

“Nope. Not even close.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow in disbelief, but drinks his water in measured sips. Steve drinks his as well, watching Bucky from under his lashes. Bucky’s chest is bare beneath the jacket, but Steve can see the hint of a scar on his left arm, mostly hidden. Without thinking, Steve reaches out and touches it.

“What happened there?”

Bucky doesn’t flinch at all from Steve’s touch, just glances down. “Fencing lesson.”

“I thought fencing swords were blunt and you wore padding.”

“Not if you’re fencing with President Pierce.” All of Bucky’s distaste for his stepfather is in his voice. “Fight until first blood.”

“Your dad sounds like a great guy.” Steve tries to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but knows from Bucky’s smirk that he doesn’t succeed.

“Stepfather. And I’m sure he wishes like hell he’d never married my mom. She stopped being the same beautiful trophy on his arm, I started doing coke, and we both became an embarrassment. Something we had in common for the first time in a long time.”

Steve remembers how close Bucky had been to his mom, how he never complained about his dad having left them. Steve had always assumed it was because Bucky knew Steve’s dad had died in the first gulf war and didn’t want to make Steve feel worse.

“Ready to get moving?”

“I’m following you, Captain.”

Steve starts off again after putting the empty bottles in the backpack and slinging it back on. He moves them at a faster pace, nervous about the number of exits they’re passing and how easily they could be entrances. “So. Are you any good with a sword?”

Bucky laughs. “I am now.”

“What about a gun?”

“I’m _very_ good with a gun.”

Steve unsnaps the strap on his shoulder holster and pulls out his gun, handing it to Bucky. “Try not to shoot anyone not actively shooting at you. It’s easier to explain, and I think the good guys and the bad guys are all wearing the same uniform.”

“Your job sucks.”

“Sometimes.” They get to the end of the tunnel suddenly, a big black wall staring them in the face. Steve takes a deep breath.

“That’s a wall.”

“With your observation skills you should have considered government work.”

“Congress is big on bio-engineering. My company does contract work. So, in a way, I do work for the government.”

Steve listens for a moment to make sure they’re still clear then triggers the signal on his watch. A panel flips open and he keys in a code then submits to a pinprick blood draw. A section of the wall slides open quietly and Steven nods for Bucky to go in, following him through. Another code and a retinal scan closes the panel and Steve turns to find Bucky staring at him.

“Don’t look at me. This is all beyond my pay grade.”

Bucky nods and looks around the dimly lighted room. “So what now?”

“Magic, I think.” Steve goes through the same ritual at the door and it slides open again. This time, instead of the tunnel, there’s a door. Steve opens it and they both walk out of a closet into the hallway of what looks like an abandoned house. The sound of distant traffic comes in though a busted-out window. 

“Okay. That...happened. Of course.”

Steve adjusts the backpack and pulls out his wireless transmitter. The tunnel had blocked the signal, but now the sound of voices bombards him. He tosses it on the ground and nods at Bucky before looking down where it fell. Bucky steps on it immediately, grinding it beneath the heel of his boot. Steve picks up the pieces and puts them in the backpack. He pulls out a box of bullets and a wad of cash. He hands those to Bucky and then walks down the hall. He tosses the backpack in the tub and turns the shower on, then flushes the transmitter down the toilet. “Ready?”

Bucky hands the cash back to Steve when he comes back, then shoves the bullets in his pocket. “Dare I ask for what?”

“Wal-mart.”

**

Bucky zips the jacket and pulls the hood up over his head. Steve stays close to him and grabs a cart before heading to the mens' section. He grabs a couple of different t-shirts for both of them as well as two pairs of jeans for himself. “Get two sets of jeans for you. Then we’ll need socks, underwear, another jacket, and a pair of tennis shoes for each of us. Baseball caps. Some snacks. Hopefully we won’t be out here for long, but we’ll prepare for it. I don’t want to be out in public too much or too long.”

“Should we split up and divide the work?”

Steve thinks for a moment then blows out a breath. “Okay. I’ll grab food and you get the clothes. We’ll meet at shoes.”

Bucky salutes and starts looking at jeans. Steve heads back for another cart and steers it toward the food aisle. He stocks up on easy to carry foods with decent nutrition, packets of nuts and jerky, protein bars and raisins. He heads for the shoe department, grabbing two backpacks on the way. Bucky’s already at the shoes trying on a pair of black sneakers.

Steve grabs a box with his size on it and puts them on. He pulls them off almost immediately and grabs the next size up to try on. They fit better, so he shoves them in his cart. “Ready?”

“I got caps and a hoodie. We should be set.”

Steve nods and they set off for the cash register. Steve pays for it all with the money from the backpack and Bucky stuffs everything in their two new ones. The clerk looks at them oddly, but Bucky just shoulders one and hands the other to Steve to do the same.

Steve sits on the bench outside and brushes off his feet, pulling on socks and the tennis shoes. They set off at a quick, even pace. Bucky’s still got his hat low and Steve tugs the hood up on his jacket. “So what’s next?”

“Hotel room. News. I’ll have to call in at some point, but I’m not going to do that anywhere near where we might be staying.”

“Who do you trust?”

“Right now? You.”

“What about your team?”

“Like I said, I got pulled back to the states for this. I don’t really know my team. My instinct says to trust some of them, but some isn’t all, and even if I get someone I trust, there’s no way of knowing who else is listening.”

“Seriously. Your job sucks.” Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets and watches the sidewalk. “So what kind of hotel?”

“Well, you’re known for being extremely picky, not to mention expensive in your tastes.”

“For most things.”

“So they’re likely going to think you’re going to insist on some place upper-end, override any objections by a mere bodyguard.”

“I’m not a snob. And you know I do most of that stuff just because it reflects badly on my dad.”

“I hope so, because you’re not getting anything like that. I’m thinking more along the lines of some place that’s willing to rent by the hour, doesn’t ask questions, and doesn’t ask twice.”

“Sounds horrifying.”

“Sounds better than being dead.”

“True.” Bucky looks around and Steve can see him realizing how bad the part of town they’re heading into is. “I’m thinking the odds of my getting killed aren’t actually decreasing.”

“Muggers rarely kill people. Bullets almost always do.” Steve steers them across the street to where there is a row of cheap looking hotels. There are homeless people sleeping against the sides of the buildings or at least staking their claims.

“My father’s policies for poverty and homelessness in action, ladies and gentlemen.”

“I’d wager over a third of them are veterans.” Steve’s tries to keep his voice even, but the treatment of returning vets is a personal issue with him. He walks past a few hotels and then stops, glancing at the prices flashing in neon before walking inside. The lobby is full of chairs with the slices in the seats and backs covered with duct tape. There’s bullet proof glass with three bullet spiderwebs in it surrounding the clerk.“Can we get a room?”

The clerk looks Steve over then turns his attention to Bucky. Bucky keeps his head down, but he probably sees the look of disdain they get. “No checks. No credit cards. Nothing bigger than a twenty. And none of them weird-ass dollar coins. And I don’t pay the cleanin’ service enough for blood, piss, or shit stains.”

“Right.” Steve nods and hands over money enough for two nights. “We’ll be careful.” He takes the key then takes Bucky’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Bucky casts a quick glance his way. He smiles, his face not giving anything away though his eyes are questioning.

They climb three flights of stairs before they find their room. Steve drops Bucky’s hand and unlocks the door, gesturing for Bucky to go inside.

“You’re not going to go in first and make sure it’s all clear.”

“If the bad guys are inside, they’re a hell of a lot better at this than I am.”

“I’m pretty positive that’s not the case.”

“You say that as if your life depended on it.” Steve grins as he shuts the door behind them and locks it. It’s not much of a lock and it won’t keep anyone even slightly determined out, but it’s something. 

“I take it this was what necessitated the hand-holding?”

Steve looks over at the bed as he sets his backpack on the scratched and scarred dresser. “There’s pretty much only one reason why people check in here, and I’d guess that since we don’t exactly look like we’re drug kingpins, there’s only one reason the two of us would check in together.”

“Why not get separate rooms?”

“That would have looked suspicious.” Steve shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be sleeping in shifts. I’m going to need your help since I don’t exactly have back-up.”

“I’ve got your back.”

“I know.” Steve nods. “Get some sleep.”

“You sure it’s safe?”

“I’ll keep watch.”

“I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about the bed itself.”

“I can’t offer any guarantees on that.”

**

Bucky falls asleep quickly, just as Steve expected him to. Endorphins and adrenaline, excitement and fear have worn him out. Steve rubs his face with his hands then combs his fingers through his hair. He takes a few deep breaths, getting his head quiet and into the place where he’s hyper-vigilant, where he’s back in the desert and everything is a potential threat.

He matches his breathing with Bucky’s, slow and even. He closes his eyes for a moment to listen and then opens them, looking at Bucky. He’s on his back, body sprawled and open, one arm on the pillow over his head. His t-shirt is rucked up slightly, exposing his stomach and the dark hair arrowing down to his low-slung waistband. Steve knows his brain is processing it all, storing it away in his memory bank for when this is all over, but for now he’s in a place where he’s separated mind and body, going off instinct and muscle memory.

He gets to his feet every hour and walks around the room and up and down the hallway. The fourth time he comes back, Bucky’s eyes are open. “Hey. Sleep good?”

“Yeah. All quiet on the western front?”

“So far.” Bucky hasn’t changed positions, but something in his eyes is different. “I knew you.”

Breath catches in Steve’s chest. “Yes.”

“You’re really different than you were when I was in kindergarten.”

“Taller?”

“You were scrawny as hell.”

“You were big for a five-year-old.”

Bucky laughs. “Not that big except maybe in comparison.”

Steve sits in the chair as Bucky sits up and scoots to the end of the bed, knees nearly touching Steve’s. “What was it?”

“I said I had your back, and something clicked into place. Why didn’t you say something?”

“What? By the way, fifteen years ago I used to tuck you into bed at night after I made you swear not to let your mom know I let you watch Robocop?”

“It’s a conversation starter.”

“I think it would have bothered me more to have reminded you and had you still not remember. This way you just didn’t remember at all.”

“You were familiar. Just...you look different. And sound different. And I’m different.” Bucky frowns. “I promise your babysitting skills didn’t turn me to a life of drugs and crime.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

“That onus lies on my stepdad’s shoulders. I’ve been clean for a year now though. Mostly clean. There was a relapse in there. And I would probably not be adverse right now to someone giving me something a lot stronger than alcohol.”

“I’m not the guy to go to for that.”

“And you’re not going to let me go to the guy that is, right?”

“Sam told me you were a genius.” 

Bucky nods and looks down at his hands. “I should let you sleep. My turn to scare the bad guys away.”

“Stay in the room, okay? If you hear something suspicious, you wake me and then get behind the bed. Once I’m there, we’ll go through the window.”

“The what?”

“Window.” Steve stands up and stretches, rising up on his toes, his arms over his head. He feels more than sees Bucky look at him and heat makes his cock tighten, harden. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah. No shit.” Bucky gets off the bed and walks over to the dresser, sitting on top of it, his back pressed to the mirror. “Steve?”

Steve lies down and closes his eyes. When he’s allowed to fall asleep, he does it quickly. Four hours is shorter than it seems. “Yeah, Buck?”

“I missed you. You were a good thing in my life, and I missed you.” He laughs softly. “No one’s called me Bucky since...”

“Bucky’s all you’ve ever been to me.” Steve keeps his eyes shut, listening to the soft hitch in Bucky’s breathing. “Goodnight.”

**

Bucky’s dressed in camo, brown and gray blending in to the whipping stand of the desert storm. Steve yells out to him, but the wind sucks his voice away. Steve can see bright streaks of RPGs, hot orange burning through the sky. He yells Bucky’s name again, and this time he hears. Bucky turns toward Steve and takes a step, suddenly lurching forward as a spray of blood erupts from his chest.

“Bucky!” Steve runs forward, ignoring the sound of gunfire as it finally reaches him. He dodges explosions of sand at his feet as the bullets hit the ground. Steve slides the last few feet to Bucky, grabbing him before he can fall from his knees to the ground. “Bucky. Bucky, no.” He can’t hear his own words, but they feel like glass in his throat. “No. Bucky. No!”

“Steve?”

The sound of Bucky’s voice jerks Steve awake, pitching him forward into a sitting position. His clothes and the comforter beneath him are soaked in sweat. Steve shivers in the air conditioning, which has been on overdrive since they checked into the room.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is soft and soothing, coming from slightly behind Steve. His hand hovers near Steve’s arm, but he doesn’t touch him. “Hey.”

“Hey. Yeah.” Steve nods then rakes his hands through his hair, lacing his fingers at the back of his skull and curving them around the nape of his neck, pressing his head forward until his chin meets his chest.

“I ODd once.” Bucky’s voice changes slightly, the shift of truth and fear in his words. “I was seventeen. Angry at the world. At my family. I wasn’t...I wasn’t trying. Not really. I don’t think I was. Maybe. I just didn’t stop, you know?”

Steve nods. He’d seen guys overseas with their eyes dead and dark until they were the same inside. The government always made it sound better. They labeled it friendly fire, neglecting to say who it was firing the shot or what the actual bullet was.

“Sometimes I wake up when the paddles hit my chest. Like this. Clothes stuck to me with sweat. My heart feeling like it just got that jolt of electricity, like it might beat right out of my chest.” Steve can see the ghost of Bucky’s smile out of the corner of his eye. “But it’s beating, you know?”

Steve unclasps his hands and nods. “They don’t come that often. I guess being shot at dredged up some memories.”

“I’m just going to throw it out there that maybe the military isn’t the best career to be in if you’re not partial to getting shot at.” He shrugs and smiles. “Or politics, apparently.”

“The chances of me ever going into politics are slim to none.” Steve glances at his watch. “How long did I sleep?”

“Six hours.”

“Four hour shifts, Bucky.”

“You were tired.” Bucky pokes Steve in the ribs. “And you snore.”

“I do not snore!” Steve grabs Bucky’s wrist and holds it, turning to look him in the eye. “I do _not_.”

“Okay. Okay. You don’t snore.” Bucky pulls his hand back and grins. Steve is suddenly very aware that they’re both sitting on full size bed which, with two people on it, isn’t that big at all. “You just breathe very loudly.”

“No respect. None.” He leans his neck to one side and then the other, vertebrae cracking. He stands up and tugs off his shirt, dropping it over the air conditioning unit. “I’m going to shower. You try to get a few more hours and then we’ll eat. I’ll run across the street and get coffee.”

Bucky takes the damp coverlet off and shoves it to the floor. He glances at the sheets and then at Steve. “I think I’ll sit in the chair.” He tugs one of the chairs over and sits on it, propping his legs on the bed. He closes his eyes and Steve stands there, watching him for a few moments. It’s not long before his breathing slows down and evens out, his head dropping to one side.

There’s a dark stubble along Bucky’s jaw, shadowing the curve of his throat. Steve’s fingers itch to touch it, scratch his palms across the prickly, silky hairs. He wants to run his tongue along the line of it, suck on smooth skin just below Bucky’s ear.

Steve curses under his breath and goes into the bathroom, shutting the door. He keeps his socks on in the shower, because there’s no way in hell he’s stepping on anything in this room barefoot. The water’s tepid and it comes out brown for the first thirty seconds. Steve waits until it runs mostly clear and then shoves his head under the spray, scrubbing his hair with his hands to get rid of grease and sweat. He cleans himself up as best he can under the circumstances and then just stands there, the water beating between his shoulder blades.

He has one hand on the wall of the shower and the other is on his thigh, fingers tapping against his skin. He closes his eyes even as he mentally tells himself to stop, and he can see Bucky again. He can imagine him laid out on the bed and spread open, Steve’s mouth on him, his hands on him. He can see Bucky’s heels digging into the mattress and his ass arching off the bed as Steve works his fingers deep, spreads and curves them. He can hear the soft gasp as Bucky wraps a hand around the base of his cock, squeezing so he can hold on, watch Steve take him apart.

Steve strokes himself, teeth sunk into his bottom lip. He holds himself tight, only loosening slightly at the base before regripping and working his hand up to the tip. It’s wet from the shower, and slick from arousal and Steve rubs it against the palm of his hand as he works himself slowly. 

Steve wants to lick the inside of Bucky’s thighs, bite at the juncture of his hip. He wants to trace Bucky’s balls and cock with his tongue, with his fingers. He wants to lick between Bucky’s fingers as he holds himself and tries not to move, to break. Steve wants to see how Bucky writhes on three fingers, wants to hear the noises he makes.

His body jerks and he comes, come disappearing down the drain in swirls of weak water. Steve turns his face up to the spray and opens his mouth, letting it pour in before he spits it out. He turns off the water and gets out, glancing at the poor excuse for towels. They really should have bought some at Wal-Mart when they’d been there. He towels himself dry and strips off his wet socks, stepping on one edge of the towel and using the other to dry off his foot. He hangs the socks over the shower curtain rod and dresses, new clothes rough and uncomfortable against his skin. 

He shoves his feet into his tennis shoes and goes back into the main room. Bucky hasn’t moved, though his jaw is slack, and he’s deeper asleep. Steve sits in the other chair and stares at him. Bucky’s his job. He needs to remember that before he gets them both killed.

**

Steve brings the coffee back and sets it on the dresser before opening the box of protein bars. He tosses one onto Bucky’s chest, earning a grunt of acknowledgment. “Rise and shine.”

Bucky doesn’t open his eyes, but he does flip Steve off.

“Just for that, I’m drinking your coffee.”

“Not sure that’s a threat. Does it taste as bad as it smells?”

Steve takes a sip then opens one of the handful of creamers he brought back with him. “Possibly worse.”

Bucky straightens with a groan. He lifts his arms up and stretches, his shoulders both popping. “Impossible.”

Steve looks away, down at the cream swirl still pooled in the center of the black. “I don’t know.” He stirs it and takes a sip then wrinkles his nose, pouring in a packet of sugar. “Unless you like burnt coffee grounds.”

“My favorite.” Bucky picks up the protein bar from where it fell on the floor. Opening it, he takes a bite, chewing as he walks the couple of feet to where his coffee is sitting. “So what’s our plan for today?”

“The day desk person was listening to the radio when I came back. It’s hard to tell what’s actual news and what’s propaganda and press releases, but the official line seems to be that the suspect is in custody.”

“Except the suspect was in custody when someone shot up the safe house last night.”

Steve takes a bite of his own bar, chewing as he taps the side of his coffee cup. “I want to try to get in touch with my team.”

“I thought you didn’t think that was safe.”

“My gut instinct is to trust Fury, Romanov, and Wilson. It seems like a lot of effort and string-pulling to get me back over here, which doesn’t make sense if they just planned to kill me. Or you. And we need intel.”

“So how do we get in touch with them without the people who _are_ shooting at us finding out?”

“Shopping mall.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, looking at Steve doubtfully. “What is it with you and shopping? Retail therapy for stress or something?”

“Places no one is going to be looking for the President’s son.”

“Stepson.”

“And plenty of cover and anonymity. I don’t know how sophisticated their tracking abilities are, but I’d like to be somewhere it’s easy to get lost in a crowd.”

“Is there a secret service hotline number or something? Like 9-1-1 for government agents? A shoe phone?”

“Not that I know of. But I have Natasha and Sam’s hotlink numbers memorized.”

“Do we need quarters for the payphones? Or maybe there’s a tax that covers your collect calls.” 

Steve smiles at Bucky’s smirk. “We’re going to buy a few prepaid phones. Same principle, but easier to find than a phone booth.” He watches Bucky take a sip of his coffee. There’s something different in the tenseness of his muscles than worry or fear. “You okay?”

He shrugs and glances at the window, away from Steve. “It’s just been a lot.”

“It has.”

“I used to keep a paper envelope in my pocket. You know the small ones? Like for keys or something?” Steve nods, watching as Bucky’s fingers rub at the flat surface of his jeans pocket. “I’d always have something with me in the envelope. Just in case. Pills or coke or...something. Anything. For about six months after rehab, I just carried the envelope like a safety net. Linus’s security blanket. And right now I’m really missing that envelope.”

“How long have you been sober?”

“I’ve been out of rehab for a year and four months.”

Steve voice doesn’t change, light and non-judgmental. “How long have you been sober?”

Bucky lets out a shaky sigh. “I had a relapse about six months ago, hence living in the east wing. I went to a party with some investors, and then to one of the old clubs. Ran into a few friends. Got lit up like a Christmas tree. I managed to drag myself to the White House three days later. The President had to wait until he got back from a two day press junket to kick me out.”

“When did you start?”

“Not why?” Bucky looks at him then, his face a mask except for the pain in his eyes. “Third boarding school. Senior year. My roommate was some diplomat’s son. He had a get out of jail free card with his dad’s name and immunity behind him, so we did all the shit you could imagine. Clubs. Bars. Strip joints. Booze. Drugs. Sex. Anything we wanted any time we wanted it. I was a mess. Self-pitying. Miserable. Lashing out. Wanting to fit in. Wanting to escape.”

“Did you?”

Bucky shakes his head, but it doesn’t do anything to get rid of the distant look in his eyes. “Almost escaped to somewhere I couldn’t come back from. Then several failed rehab stints until the last one sort of stuck.”

“The club I followed you to...”

“That was mostly for your benefit. Or well, your test. I wanted to see you react.”

“Except you weren’t watching me.”

Bucky laughs. It’s not exactly a humorous laugh, more surprised out of him. “Well, I also wanted to get laid.”

“Because your parents aren’t exactly hoping you’ll bring home a nice boy.”

“My parents...my stepfather would rather I become a eunuch.”

“Don’t...” Steve clears his throat, carefully keeping his eyes from dropping to Bucky’s crotch. “Don’t do that. I mean, the singing isn’t worth it. And opera’s such a tough field to get into.”

“Don’t worry. Being gay isn’t something I have any intention of hiding, doing away with, or pretending it doesn’t exist. And having really amazing sex isn’t all of that, but it’s a part of it that I’m really fond of.” Bucky finishes his coffee and tosses his cup in the trash. “What about you? Vices? Dark secrets? Scandal?”

“Well...I play a mean game of dominoes.” Steve tosses what’s left of his coffee away. “We can buy a set at the mall so I can kick your ass. Show off my prowess.”

Bucky doesn’t keep his gaze from dropping to Steve’s crotch, though there’s not an overtly sexual overtone to it. “Wow. You’re a wild man, Rogers. Not sure I can keep up with you.”

“I live dangerously.” Steve says seriously, doing his best to distance himself from the thought of Bucky keeping up with him. Doing _anything_ with him. “I don’t need to play that way too.” He clears his throat. “You want to take a shower?”

“Yeah.” Bucky starts for the bathroom then stops at the doorway to look back at Steve. “You must think I grew up to be a spoiled fuck-up.”

“No.”

“I am a spoiled fuck-up though.” Bucky gives him a thin, self-deprecating smile. He props one arm on the doorjamb. “Probably not what you expected of me when I was five. I promise it’s not a comment on your babysitting skills.”

Steve laughs. “So you said. Go take your shower, Barnes.”

Bucky nods, a real smile glinting before he disappears into the bathroom. Steve collapses in the chair and exhales roughly. Bucky’s smile is more than he can handle on just a few hours of sleep. He rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger until he sees stars. He can feel his headache building, brought on by too little sleep and bad coffee.

The shower cuts off a few minutes later and Steve jerks out of his stupor. He stands up, more tired than he wants to admit. Bucky comes out a little later in a fresh t-shirt. His short hair is a rumpled mess from running his hands through the dampness. He didn’t shave, so there’s a dark shadow of stubble on his jawline and throat.

“You ready?”

Steve nods, averting his eyes again, grabbing his baseball cap as an excuse to look away. “Let’s go.”

Bucky grabs his hoodie and tugs it on, following Steve out of the motel. Steve walks two blocks east and they catch the Metro. Bucky huddles into his hoodie as they push through the crowds on the train and in the mall. Steve stays close to him, their shoulders brushing as they walk. Steve nods to a phone kiosk. “Get two prepaid phones. I’ll hit the store on the next level. We can meet at the Starbucks on this level and get real coffee.”

“You’re a man after my own heart.”

Steve huffs a laugh and can feel a blush heating his cheeks. He heads toward the elevator, ignoring the ridiculous hitch in his breathing. He picks up his two phones and glances over the railing. His gaze goes immediately to Bucky, assessing the possibility of a threat to him, of recognition. Bucky’s leaning against the wall outside the Starbucks, a white bag looped around his wrist. He looks up and catches Steve’s eye. He smiles and Steve waves on instinct before realizing that he probably looks like an idiot.

There’s a crowd of people at the escalator, so Steve takes the stairs coming up on Bucky’s left. “Hey.”

“I was going to order, but I wasn’t sure what you liked. Plus I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to save receipts for the spook CPAs.”

“I’m not a spy.” Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and steers him inside, carefully not questioning his own motives for the unnecessary contact. He leans in, his voice low, between them. “Don’t use your real name.”

Bucky’s eyelids flutter slightly and he nods, swallowing hard. “What do you want?”

“Black coffee.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“There are literally thousands of options and you want plain black coffee.”

Steve shrugs. “More doesn’t necessarily mean better.”

“Oh my god. Get us a table, Mr. Perfect.”

“Ha. Not by a long shot.”

Bucky smirks and gets in line, his hands tucked into his jeans pockets. Steve watches people’s gaze go to Bucky even though he’s not doing anything particularly attention-worthy. Except being Bucky. And looking like he does. He orders and the barista looks like she’s fallen in love. Bucky gives her a smile before he pays and heads to the other end to pick up their drinks. It takes her a minute to get her eyes back on her next customer.

Several minutes later someone calls out ‘Aaron’, and Bucky gets their coffees, coming over and sitting across from Steve. He slides one of the cups in front of Steve then takes a sip from his own, groaning softly. “This is _so_ much better.”

Steve swallows and looks down at his coffee, praying to whoever might be listening that Bucky doesn’t make that noise again. Especially while they’re in public. He blows across the top of his drink and then takes a drink, feeling the burn in his mouth before he swallows it down. “Much.”

They sit in silence while they drink, Steve opens one of the phones while Bucky breaks one of his out, reading through the instructions. He leans back in his chair, almost sprawling, one of his legs pressed against the inside of Steve’s. Steve focuses hard on his phone, careful not to move. 

Bucky’s still finishing his drink when Steve empties his cup. Steve straightens, moving his leg away from Bucky’s. “I’m going to call in.” He nods to a pillar outside the shop. “It’ll be quieter over there.”

“Okay.” Bucky stands up and smiles. “Let’s go.”

“I was thinking you’d stay here.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

“There would be ten feet between us.”

Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and tugs him to his feet. “Come on.” He grabs his bag and threads his fingers with Steve’s, pulling him out of the Starbucks. “Don’t look so shell-shocked. You could pretend you don’t mind being out in public with me.”

“I’m a little unsure why you’re...”

“People keep looking at us. At you. You’re...exceptionally hot. If they look at you, they look at me, which means they might recognize me. But if they think we’re together, they’ll look away, because gay couples still make people uncomfortable.”

“But you are gay. So they’d expect you to be part of a gay couple.”

“I’m out, but unless you think I’m into old Republicans, I’m very rarely seen with another guy. So me being with you isn’t going to make anyone think of James Barnes.” He shrugs and laughs. “So we’ll be in plain sight, but ignored.” He reaches the pillar and leans against it, his legs spread as he pulls Steve against him. “Make your phone call.”

“I’m pretty sure guys standing like this aren’t making phone calls.” Steve shifts back half a step, trying to put distance between them. “Maybe getting arrested for public indecency.”

“Fine, fine.” Bucky’s smile is tight, fake. He releases the light hold he has on Steve’s hips then straightens, crossing his arms over his chest. “Make your phone call.”

“Buck...”

“Make your phone call.” 

Steve curses under his breath and dials the phone, a series of five number sets nothing like a phone number. He inputs the last digit and holds it up to his ear, waiting for an answer. A threat. Something. 

“Jesus Christ, Rogers.”

“Good to hear your voice, Sam.”

“Where the fuck are you? No. Don’t answer that. Is he safe?”

“He is. We are. What do we know?”

“Not a lot. The guy we got claims to know nothing, and even Tasha can’t get more out of him. And she’s really good at getting more out of people who supposedly know nothing. We’ve got six of our own down at the house, two of theirs. Nothing we can identify them with.”

“So it’s not that we don’t have a lot. We don’t have anything.”

“We’ve got bullets with no rifling. Russian made, but that doesn’t mean anything. Fury’s calling in favors. Hill might have some intel soon. Can you be reached?”

“No. We’ve got phones, but I’m not planning on keeping anything long once we use it. I’ll check in daily. I’ll keep him safe. You find out what I’m keeping him safe _from_. What about the other birds?”

“Safe. No threats. No shots at their houses, but you were the last one out, so it’s possible you were tailed.”

“Lucky us. Find something, Sam.”

“We will.” 

“Find it fast.” Steve disconnects the call and exhales, glancing at Bucky. 

“My mom’s okay?”

“She’s safe, yeah.” Steve glances around them again, even though he’d been constantly checking their surroundings as he’d talked. “We should get something to keep us busy at the hotel. We’re going to be there a while.”

“Dominoes?”

“Cards. Word searches. Books. Anything that’ll keep us from going stir-crazy.”

“Can we get a coffee pot and some coffee?”

“And give up your triple shot vanilla soy latte with caramel sauce and a sprinkle of cinnamon?”

“That’s not what I drink.” Bucky shoves at Steve’s chest, his fingers ghosting over Steve’s biceps as he pulls his hand back. “That’s a diabetic coma.”

“Yeah? I don’t know, it smelled really sweet from where I was sitting.” 

“Nah. That’s just me.” Bucky leans in and plants a quick kiss on Steve’s nose. “Let’s go shopping.”

“Isn’t that my line?” 

“We’re together.” Bucky grabs Steve’s hand again and squeezes. “We share everything.”

By the time they get back to the hotel, Steve’s jeans feel like they’re four sizes too small. Bucky flirted their entire way through the mall. Steve wanted to tell him to stop, but the truth was that Bucky was right. No one paid much attention to them once they took their first look. Bucky digs through the bags and pulls out a blanket they’d found in a bargain bin and tosses it on the bed before flopping down on it. “I’m trying to decide if the bed or the chair is more comfortable.” 

“Is that what it’s always like for you?”

“What?” Bucky props himself up on his elbows and looks at Steve. 

“People. When they look at you.”

“Most of the time.” Bucky shrugs and sits up, crossing his legs beneath him. “I mean, DC is pretty accepting, and when people know who I am they at least feign niceness. And usually ask me if I know Ellen.”

“Do you?”

Bucky laughs. “No. She was supposed to interview me once, but the President put a stop to that. Good press doesn’t involve his stepson talking about how he likes to take it up the ass.”

“Oh...I...yeah.” Steve clears his throat. “Does Ellen ask questions like that?”

“He wasn’t about to take the chance. According to the internet, the world wants to know if James Buchanan Barnes pitches or catches. It also apparently wants me to be having sex with Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Matt Bomer, or Robert Downey, Jr. None of whom I’d kick out of bed, for the record.”

“I...they do?”

“Yeah. One of them is apparently really into me tying them up and slapping their...” Bucky stops and laughs. “Oh, man. Your _face_.” His eyes drop down to Steve’s crotch and his laughter stops. “Well, well, Mr. Perfect.”

Steve clears his throat and takes a step back. “It must suck. To live in a fishbowl. Everything up for public consumption.”

“Do they look at you like that?” Bucky slides to the end of the bed and looks up at Steve through dark lashes. “Or are you afraid they will so you never venture out?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Steve swallows hard and starts to take another step back when Bucky grabs his wrist tightly. 

“You know what I mean.” He shakes his head, not looking away. “You may not have admitted it to yourself, or maybe you just don’t want to admit it to me, but you know what I mean.”

“This isn’t the time or place for this discussion. There isn’t a time or place for this discussion. My job is to keep you alive.” Steve shakes his arm, and Bucky lets his wrist go. “We’re not friends. We’re not...anything. You’re my job. My mission.”

Bucky’s face shuts down and, even though he doesn’t move, there’s a world of distance between them. “Right. I’m just another day at the office.” 

“Bucky...”

“Don’t. Don’t...don’t call me that.” He settles back on the bed and turns on his side, away from Steve. Steve wants to punch something, possibly himself. “You take first watch. Since it’s your job.”

**

Steve stands at the window for eight hours, staring out at the night. There are flashes of neon that reflect off of plate glass windows, like jagged scars where it falls on broken shards on the ground. He focuses on his own breathing, on watching, rather than on listening to Bucky sleeping. He was supposed to wake Bucky four hours ago so they could switch off, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it and face him. He feels like shit, and he deserves any hard words Bucky wants to throw at him. 

Bucky sniffs and Steve can see him sit up out of the corner of his vision. Bucky yawns and rubs his eyes. “Time’s it?”

“Four.”

“You mean midnight.”

“It’s four.” 

“You were supposed to wake me at midnight.” He gets off the bed and heads for the bathroom, snapping on the light and momentarily blinding Steve. He shuts the door, and Steve still sees the bright rectangle in the sudden darkness. Steve rubs his eyes and can’t quite keep back a yawn. Everything feels tight and aches, especially in his back and shoulders. He hears the toilet flush and then running water, so he averts his eyes so that the light doesn’t blind him again.

“It’s been quiet.”

“Go to sleep.” Bucky doesn’t look at him, just digs a book out of one of the bags and flips through it. The light from the bathroom softens from prolonged exposure and Steve nods even though Bucky can’t see it. 

“Yeah. Goodnight.” Steve stretches out, wincing as his back twinges. He wants to say something else, but he can’t think of anything to say. He closes his eyes instead, counting between each inhale and exhale. The bed is still warm from Bucky’s body and Steve fits himself to the depression in the mattress that Bucky had made. He presses his face against his arm and breathes against his skin. He opens his eyes slightly, watching Bucky read through the fan of his lashes. He’s haloed by the bathroom light, his dark hair shadowing his face. 

“Go to sleep.” Bucky says again. His voice is flat and emotionless and Steve closes his eyes again, welcoming the exhaustion he’s tried to keep at bay, not sure if he should wish for the nightmares to wake him up, or if he wants to dream them through until the end.

When he wakes up light is streaming in through the window, freckled through the spotted glass. He glances at his watch and sits upright. “Bucky?” He doesn’t need to say the word to know the room’s empty. The door to the bathroom is still open and Steve can’t believe he was that stupid. That Bucky’s this stupid. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” Steve staggers to his feet and rakes his bangs out of his face. “Shit.”

The hotel room door opens and Steve whirls, gun out and aimed. Bucky’s eyes widen and he holds up both hands including the coffee cups in them. His mouth drops open, and the packaged doughnuts fall from between his teeth onto the floor. “I come in peace.”

“Shit.” Steve lowers his gun and blows out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Shit, Bucky. Shit.”

Bucky comes in the room and kicks the door shut behind him, setting both coffees down before raising his hands up again in surrender. “I’m going to lock the door again, okay?”

“Put your hands down.”

Bucky shakes his head and backs to the door. “I’d offer to assume the position, but you vetoed that last night.” He locks the door and picks the doughnuts off the floor. “These were a peace offering, but I ate two of them, so it’s only two-thirds of a peace offering. I guess that makes it more of a pea offering.”

“You _scared_ me.”

“I’m pretty sure if the bad guys came and took me, they wouldn’t have left you imitating Sleeping Beauty.”

“I wasn’t worried about the _bad guys_.”

“Ah. Afraid your rejection might have sent me down the rabbit hole?” His expression isn’t quite a smirk, but isn’t quite a smile either. It’s acceptance. Hollowness.

“No, you idiot. I was worried that you’d left. Just...gone.”

“And you’d get fired?”

Steve grabs Bucky by the arms and shakes him. “No! That you’d...gone.” He stops, his hands firmly on Bucky’s biceps, thumbs digging into the muscle. “That you’d gone.”

Bucky holds Steve’s gaze for a moment that seems to last forever, and then it’s broken. He breaks Steve’s grip on his arms by lifting them, framing Steve’s face between his hands as he kisses him. It’s hard and hot and desperate, Bucky’s teeth clacking against Steve’s, the sharp edges cutting Steve’s lower lip as Bucky pushes Steve’s mouth open with his tongue.

Steve groans and grabs Bucky’s hips, pulling him in closer. They stumble to the bed and Steve’s back hits the mattress, Bucky’s weight pushing his breath out of him. He loses track of what’s happening, of whose hands are whose. There’s nothing slow or tender about it. He can feel Bucky’s nails scratching at his skin as Bucky pulls Steve’s shirt off. He can feel Bucky’s dick against his as he arches toward Steve as Steve rakes his fingers over Bucky’s ass.

“Fuck. Fuck.” Bucky gasps against Steve’s neck just before he sinks his teeth into the tendon at the base of his throat, the bite digging in as Bucky struggles to get Steve’s jeans undone. Steve shifts and puts one foot on the bed, using it as leverage to lift himself off the mattress. Bucky huffs a groan and a laugh mixed as Steve knees him in the thigh. “Careful. Shit. That’s all going to be really important in a minute.”

“Shut up.” Steve groans, grabbing Bucky’s head and turning it so they can kiss again. Steve can’t let go, has to hold on as tight as he can, his tongue fucking Bucky’s mouth, tangling with Bucky’s tongue. He rolls them over so he’s on top and pulls back enough to get his shirt all the way off. Bucky’s hands curve around Steve’s sides, his thumbs stroking his abdomen. Steve looks down at him, his whole body moving with the rough pant of his breath. “B-bucky.”

Bucky shakes his head and surges up, grabbing Steve in another kiss. He turns them again, pinning Steve to the bed, his hands curved around Steve’s wrists. “Stop thinking. Don’t think. Just feel. Feel me.” He kisses him again, biting Steve’s lower lip until he whimpers and then sucking it into his mouth, tongue tracing the split of Steve’s lip. His hands slide down and he pushes Steve’s jeans to his knees. He pulls back and looks at Steve, eyes dark and half-closed, mouth swollen, wet and red. 

“You’re...you’re so...”

“You suck at taking orders.” Bucky grins and moves back, tugging Steve’s boxer-briefs down this time, fingers lifting the waistband to guide it over Steve’s dick. Bucky darts a quick glance up at Steve, his grin still firmly in place. “I suck at other things.”

Steve gasps as Bucky takes him in his mouth, wetness and heat surrounding him. Steve’s hips jerk up and Bucky’s hands are there on his side again, pinning him down. He takes Steve deep, spit sliding over his balls and down to his hole. Steve’s body clenches, his ass tight. He strokes a hand down Bucky’s hair, wanting to fist his hand in it, but settling for resting it on Bucky’s shoulder. 

Bucky pulls off Steve’s cock and ducks his head, taking Steve’s balls in his mouth and sucking on them. Steve whines deep in his throat as Bucky’s mouth contracts and then he releases Steve’s balls, moving back to his cock. It’s a mess of intensity and deprivation and Steve can’t breathe from it. He shifts so he’s on his elbows, watching Bucky’s hair fall forward as he takes Steve deep in his throat. His arms feel weak even from that small effort. His whole body feels weak from the hot, tight circle of Bucky’s mouth.

“Y-you...fuck, you don’t suck.” Bucky pulls off and moves up, his mouth hot on Steve’s. Steve can taste the slick sourness of pre-come on Bucky’s tongue. Bucky’s hands scramble between them, and then his body is against Steve’s, the hard press of his dick against Steve’s. “O-oh. Oh, B-buck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Steve rocks his hips up as Bucky thrusts down and after a few false starts and rough, tortured groans they find a rhythm. Slick sticky cock against cock, friction building as they slide together. Bucky kisses him, tongue thrusting in a different rhythm than their hips, keeping Steve off balance until he grabs fistfuls of Bucky’s hair and holds him, takes over the kiss so everything falls into place together. 

Bucky moans against Steve’s mouth and fists his hands in the blanket on either side of Steve’s head, elbows digging into the mattress by Steve’s shoulders. The thrust and jerk of his hips alters, slightly erratically, and then he breaks the kiss, a rough desperate breath before Steve feels the heat of his orgasm spread between them. Steve groans and he locks a leg around the back of both of Bucky’s and strains upwards, hot quick thrusts against the thick slickness of Bucky’s come driving him over the edge. He comes as well, letting his head fall back. Bucky collapses on top of him the rest of the way, laying his forehead against Steve’s shoulder.

Steve exhales, his hand absently stroking down Bucky’s spine. “So. That was...”

“Unexpected?”

He blows out another breath and nods slightly. “Yeah.”

“Unwanted?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. No. Definitely not. Just ill-advised. Everything Is aid before still applies. You’re my job. My responsibility.”

“Right.” Bucky doesn’t make any effort to move, and neither does Steve. He can’t actually encourage him to, not honestly. Bucky’s weight and heat feel too good against him, on him. “So what happens next?”

“Next we try and contact the team again. See if anything’s changed.”

“And if it hasn’t?”

“If it hasn’t, we wait. Read some books. Do a lot of crosswords.”

Bucky laughs softly, ruefully, his breath fanning against Steve’s skin. “Just pretend this never happened.”

“That would be the smart thing.” Steve runs a finger over the curve of his ass to take the sting out of his words. “Since not having done it isn’t exactly possible.”

Bucky pulls back so he can look Steve in the eye. His bangs fall forward, tangling in his eyelashes. “So you do regret it.” It’s not quite a question, not quite a statement.

“I regret the circumstances. You’re my _job_ , Bucky. I can’t be doing this with you.”

“The two of us are trapped in a sleazy motel room.”

“I realize that.”

“The only real furniture is a bed.”

“Bucky...”

“Okay, okay. There’s a chair. And a dresser.”

“Bu...” Bucky cuts Steve off, surging up a few inches to kiss him. He bites Steve’s lower lip hard and Steve’s mouth opens in protest. Bucky’s tongue slides past them, along Steve’s, fucking into his mouth. Steve groans and splays his hand across the small of Bucky’s back, pulling him hard against him.

Bucky thrusts against Steve and finds Steve’s wrists with his hands, guiding them onto the bed and pinning them there. “Shut up,” Bucky murmurs into Steve’s mouth. “Just shut up.”

Steve nods as Bucky kisses him again, grinding down. Steve’s dick aches with the pressure, and he wants more. He arches up, even though he’s soft, and Bucky’s hips jerk in response. 

“Need lube. Fuck. Bury my fingers inside you.”

Steve sucks in a breath and blows it out roughly. “Yes. Fuck. Yes.” His muscles tighten, and he strains against Bucky’s grip, wrapping his leg around Bucky’s again for leverage to grind them together.

“Take three, Steve?” Bucky moans. “Four?”

Steve whimpers in response, his body locked against Bucky’s, partially dried come flaking and sliding between them. 

“More?” Bucky breathe as he pushes them back to the bed. Steve’s whole body shakes as he tries to get air. “Can you take it all, Steve?”

Steve shudders and slumps hard on the bed. His entire body feels like it’s on the verge of breaking apart, and all he wants is Bucky buried inside him. Bucky lays on top of him, and Steve can feel the hard, fast beat of Bucky’s heart, hear the panted rasp of his breath.

“The...that...” Steve shudders again as Bucky presses his face to Steve’s neck, tongue darting along his skin, chasing sweat. He groans roughly. “Bucky.”

“I used to think about you.” Bucky’s voice is hoarse. “When I got older, when I thought about guys. I’d think about you.”

“Teenage me? I was a 98-pound weakling.” Steve laughs. “I was the before guy in the ads you used to see in comic books.”

“Not to me. You were...you treated me like a person. Like I mattered. Like I was important.” He looks up at Steve, his face still damp and his lips red and wet. “I think I half-idolized you and was half in love with you.” He lifts his hand and traces Steve’s jaw with his fingers. “I had good taste.”

“You had horrible taste. You just happened to pick the one guy who actually did become the after picture.”

Bucky huffs a soft laugh and settles his head back on Steve’s shoulder. “Your looks just caught up to the rest of you. And stop arguing with me. I’m your boss.”

“Sure. Except you’re supposed to do what I say.”

Bucky pokes Steve in the stomach gently. “Hush.”

Steve doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up with a start to the sound of rustling plastic. He can feel the depression of Bucky’s weight at the end of the bed and he shivers, even though he knows he’s only missing Bucky’s body heat on a psychological level. “That had better not be the sound of you eating my doughnuts.”

The mattress moves as Bucky does, and he knows Bucky’s turned toward him, but he keeps his eyes closed. “No?” Bucky’s voice is garbled, distorted by the food in his mouth. Steve opens one eye and trains it on Bucky.

“You ate my peace offering?”

“I thought we kind of settled on something better. Less pastry, more...”

“Penis?”

“Yeah.” Bucky smiles, though it fades quickly at Steve’s expression. “No?”

“You ate our peace treaty.”

“Potential peace treaty! You never accepted. Besides, I was hungry! You made me work up an appetite.”

“ _Made you_?” Steve’s eyes widen and he moves quickly, grabbing Bucky’s arm and jerking him against Steve before Bucky can even react. “Made you?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s slightly breathless, especially when he moves and presses his thigh against Steve’s dick, feeling it harden. “By being irresistible.”

Steve coughs a choked laugh. “Does that line ever actually _work_?”

Bucky’s hand slides down and cups Steve’s erection. “Seems to.”

“You’re a menace.” Steve nuzzles Bucky’s throat then bites at the tendon, sucking the skin.

“O-oh.” Bucky gasps softly, squeezing Steve’s dick. “C-can’t start this until we have lube.”

“Should have thought of that before you ate my doughnuts. Now I’m just going to have to torture you with what I _could_ do to you.”

Bucky tilts his head, exposing more of his neck. “Thought you were su-supposed to be the good guy.”

“This doesn’t feel good?” Steve whispers as he catches Bucky’s earlobe between his teeth.

“Oh, fuck.”

“So I should stop?”

“No. Fuck. Please.”

Steve traces the curve of Bucky’s ear with his tongue. “Please?”

“Please.” Bucky turns his head, capturing Steve’s mouth. The kiss is filthy – deep and hungry and wet with a hint of chocolate. Steve slides his hand between Bucky’s legs, scraping his nails on the inside of Bucky’s thighs as he spreads them. Steve traces the tight muscle of Bucky's hole, rubbing the pad of his finger over it. Bucky makes a low keening noise and digs his heels into the bed to give Steve better access.

Steve watches Bucky’s face as Steve teases him, caught by the way Bucky’s lashes fan against his flushed cheeks, the way his teeth sink into his lower lip. Steve rubs his finger from Bucky’s hole, over the perineum and to the base of his balls before repeating the process in reverse. 

Bucky’s body jerks hard at the pressure, and then again at the sharp chime of one of the burner phones.

“Shit,” Steve hisses, pushing Bucky off the bed and onto the floor before following him over. He grabs his jeans and his gun, pressing Bucky back against the wall.

“What do we do?” Bucky whispers.

“Hope like hell it’s a wrong number.” Steve inches forward and grabs the phone, cursing himself for even keeping it. He takes a deep breath and punches the button. “Hello?”

“About damn time you answered,” Sam informs him. “We got the safe house shooters.”

“How’d you get this number?”

“You don’t want to know how Fury does what he does. Or what exactly it is that he does. Bring the birdie home. I’ll pick you up. Give me a destination and an ETA.”

Steve gives Sam a location, one of Fury’s pre-arranged meeting points, and tells him they’ll meet him in an hour. It’s only twenty minutes away, but Steve wants to know what he and Bucky are walking in to.

Bucky’s still naked in the corner. “They hacked a burner phone we used _once_.”

“Be glad they’re on our side.” Steve hopes they’re on their side. He glances down at himself and grimaces. “Showers first.” He holds up a hand to stop Bucky before he can say anything. “Separate.”

“I wasn’t going to...” He stops at Steve’s look. 

“I want someone with a gun at all times.”

“Right. Just like I was going to say. Separate showers.”

**

Sam’s at the coffee shop when they get there a half-hour early. Steve sighs and walks over to the table, sitting across from him. Bucky pulls out one of the other chairs and sits as well, legs splayed. Steve keeps his eyes on Sam.

“What?” Sam’s grin is infectious, and Steve can’t help returning it. “I know all the same tricks, Rogers.”

“Probably not all of them.” Steve glances at Bucky. “You want a coffee?”

“I’ll get it. You two do your secret spy stuff.”

“I’m not a spy!” Steve reminds him, smiling when Bucky grins in response.

“Oh shit.” Same fights back a laugh. “You are _gone_.”

“What?” Steve looks back at Sam, well away that heat is rising in his cheeks. “What?”

“You’ve got hearts in your eyes like some cartoon character.” Sam leans back in his seat, arms behind his head. He’s gleeful, and Steve wants to tell him to shut up, but that would likely make him sound like a teenage girl.”

“I do not!” Steve realizes that’s not much better, possibly even worse.

“He didn’t even ask how you wanted your coffee. When should I expect my ‘save the date’ card?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve does a quick perimeter scan to avoid looking at Sam. He finally looks back at him, hoping his blush is under control. “What did we learn from the shooter?”

“Nope. You get to talk about that with Natasha and Fury. My lips are sealed unless it’s about giving you shit.”

“Great.” Steve sighs and looks over at Bucky, instinctively scouting his surroundings. “Can you at least tell me what the next step is?”

“Sure. Your boyfriend gets his ass over here, you taste your coffee and make a face so I don’t think he knows your order by heart, then we catch our ride.”

“I don’t think I like you anymore.” Steve stands up as Bucky walks over, taking the coffee from his hand. “And I drink it black. It’s not that tough to remember.”

“Whatever you say, Cap.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, a smile lurking in the quirk of his lips. “Did I miss something?”

“Spy stuff.” Sam snags the pastry bag out of Bucky’s hand and folds the top back, taking a bite. “Thanks.”

“You just stole his food, Sam.”

“What? You mean he got you coffee and didn’t get me anything? Today’s kids have no manners.” Sam pulls a set of keys out of his jacket pocket. “Just for that, I’m not letting you drive.”

Steve rolls his eyes and shakes his head at Bucky. “He wasn’t going to let you drive.”

“That’s true.” Sam unlocks the car and opens the driver’s door. “The one who knows where you’re going should always drive.”

The look Bucky tosses at Steve before he climbs into the car speaks volumes, and Steve can feel the blush staining his cheeks again. He’s in desperate trouble if even the thought of innuendo gets him half-hard. He closes his eyes tight for a few moments, searching for strength. He slides into the back seat next to Bucky and waits for Sam to merge into traffic before leaning in, keeping his voice low.

“No one knows. Understood?”

Steve thinks Bucky’s going to protest, but instead he nods. “Don’t ask, don’t tell, right?”

“Don’t tell and Steve doesn’t get fired.” He shrugs. “Plus all of Steve’s parts stay intact.”

“Talking about yourself in the third person is kind of creepy.” Bucky rubs his thumb over the web of Steve’s hand. “And really fails at subtle.”

“So do you.”

Bucky grins and releases Steve’s hand. “Made for each other.”

**

Sam pulls into a familiar alley and surrenders the car to one of Fury’s other agents before leading Steve and Bucky into the labyrinth of computers and noise where Steve first met the team. Sam stops at one of the doors lining the hallway and opens it, gesturing for Bucky to go inside. “Agent Hill.”

“No. I don’t like her.”

Sam closes the door and starts down the hall again. Bucky looks at Steve unsurely and then follows. Sam opens another door and smiles. “Agent Romanov.”

Bucky starts to say something and then snaps his mouth closed. He glares at Sam and goes into the room, and Sam waits for the sound of the chair moving back before he closes the door. 

“That was manipulative,” Steve informs him.

“I know. That’s all part of the service.” He grins. “Come on. Fury’s waiting for you.”

“Can’t _I_ talk to Agent Hill?”

“Nope. Sorry. You, my friend, don’t get a choice.” Sam leads him toward a back room and opens the door for him, following him into the room. Fury’s sitting in his chair watching one of the monitors. Steve looks up and realizes he’s looking into the room where Natasha is sitting on the edge of the table and Bucky is sitting across from her. Fury taps a button on his desk and the screen goes blank. “Rogers. Sit.”

“I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself. Wilson?”

Steve sees Same move out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the wall. Fury rolls his good eye.

“We’ve got shitty outside surveillance video from the one camera outside the safe house that they missed taking out. We’ve got three dead guys, one from your weapon, we assume.. We’ll run it through ballistics to be sure. The other two had crude bullets altered to fit in the guns they used so they’re impossible to trace.”

“Shot by accident or on purpose?”

“Execution style, so we’re going to go with on purpose as a working theory.”

“I’d like to see the bullets.”

“In a bit. Other than what I just told you we’ve got diddly and shit.”

“Our intelligence community at work.” Sam turns a snort of laughter into a cough and Fury gives them both a dirty look. Steve shrugs. “What did we learn from the original shooter?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Did you let Hill interrogate him? Did she just knock him out or something?”

“I mean he clammed up and nothing was getting him to talk. Even Romanoff. He’s also got no priors. Nothing that connects him to anything. Not even a goddamn speeding ticket.” Fury leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head, linking his fingers together. He keeps his eye on Steve and doesn’t seem to blink. “What can you tell us?”

“Mostly what the interior of the hotel we were living in looks like, but I hate telling horror stories. We didn’t see much at all. We were having dinner and the first grenade came in. We got out through the tunnels.”

“Did you hear anything?”

Steve closes his eyes, thinking back. He’d been distracted by Bucky but, out of instinct, he’d been on guard, processing his surroundings. “They were quiet. Not a sound. Not even comms. Whoever this is, they’re either highly skilled or rich enough to afford the big guns.”

“Which really doesn’t narrow it down.” Fury punches the button on his desk and Natasha and Bucky are back on the screen. “I hate waiting for the other side to make a move. We’ve got enough turmoil right now that I don’t need the president and his family running scared.”

“No attacks since then?”

“No. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

“What does the press know?”

“They know about the shooting at the press conference. No one cares about a gas pipe explosion in the suburbs. We told ‘em Barnes is laying low, but I imagine they think he went on a bender. His work called and suggested he take the week off, so they’re not missing him.”

“So what now?”

“Now we wait.” Fury looks pissed off by the idea. “We’ve got no demands from these guys, nothing that gives us any idea who we’re looking for. Your intel simply tells us it could be pretty much any country or conglomerate who’s pissed off at the current administration.”

“So, all of them?” Sam throws out and earns himself a sharp glance from Fury.

“Exactly.” He looks up at the screen. Natasha is shaking her head and Fury flips the sound on. 

“As far as I know neither my dad or I have done anything to piss anyone off more than usual. Can I just go home now? My dad’s at the UN again today, right? Announcing the vaccine again, hopefully this time without any gunshots. So I’m safe to just get some sleep? I promise I won’t leave my wing.”

Natasha looks up at the camera, and Steve wonders what is on the wall disguising it. Bucky hasn’t looked at it once, so he knows it’s not a visible camera. Fury shuts off the audio and sighs. “Take him home. And he’d better stay his ass in his wing or Hill’s going to get the okay to keep him doped up on tranquilizers until this is all over.”

“You know, we’re actually supposed to be on _his_ side.”

“Which is why it’s only a tranq in the gun.” Fury stands up and Sam straightens. “Go before I change my mind and lock him up in here.”

Steve turns on his heel and heads out into the hallway, Sam right behind him. He opens the door to the interrogation room and ignores Natasha’s immediate fighting stance. “Come on.”

“Home?” Steve nods and Bucky gets to his feet, brushing past Natasha on his way to the door.

“Rogers.” Natasha shakes her head. “We need to talk first.”

“If he’s going back to the residence, then I’m going with him. He’s my responsibility.”

“That might be the problem.” She glances at Bucky as he follows Sam down the hallway. “I’m beginning to think that assigning him to you was a mistake.”

“Well, too late now.”

Natasha grabs Steve’s arm before he can turn away and steps closer. She’s shorter than him, but intimidating nonetheless. “He’s your mission. Remember that.”

“I do, which is why I’m going with him.”

“You can’t protect him if all you’re thinking about is getting a piece of ass.”

“Then assign someone else.” Steve jerks his arm free of her grasp. “If that’s what you want to do, if that’s what you think is best for this, then do it. But you called _me_. You brought me out of a special op for this, so you thought I could do the job. You knew I knew him.”

“I didn’t realize you wanted to fuck him.”

Steve’s voice is flat and hard. “My life is his. I’d die to protect him. What I want has no bearing on how I do my job.”

“Don’t fuck him. Don’t touch him. Those are orders, Captain Rogers.”

“Are we done?”

Natasha nods once. “Yeah. We’re done.”

Steve walks away, tension coiled in his muscles. The impulses that used to get him into fights he couldn’t win when he was younger hum through his veins and he wants to punch someone, something. Sam takes one look at him and steps away from Bucky, simply nodding toward the door. “The car’ll take you to the residence. You want company?”

“No.” Steve snaps then shakes his head and manages a tense smile. “No. Thanks, Sam.”

“I’m on for a run later if you feel like it. I even promise to slow down and not make you look bad.”

“You’re a peach, Wilson.” Steve actually does smile as he moves past Bucky to the door. There’s an anonymous agent at the car waiting beside the driver’s door. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“It’s a date.”

“Don’t tell Romanov that. She already has my balls in a vice. The last thing I need is her thinking I’m after her boyfriend.”

“I’m not her boyfriend.” Sam hollers after them before Steve shuts the car door. Steve sighs and rests his head on the back of the seat. “I could be in Afghanistan freezing my balls off at night and getting shot at.”

“Missing the good old days, huh?” Bucky imitates Steve’s posture, staring up at the roof of the car. “I think I’ve got you beat. I could be passed out in an alley craving my next fix.”

“But you’re not.” Steve turns his head to look at him. Bucky looks exhausted, the past few days and Natasha’s interrogation wearing on him. “You all right?”

“I know nothing. I told her that from the start and she kept asking me. I mean, I know that’s her job. I do. Maybe I do know something. Hell, I don’t know. Who am I?” He laughs weakly and leans toward Steve, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. He keeps his voice low so the driver can’t hear. “Can we go home and crawl in bed?”

“No.” Steve says it softly, but it still feels like a fist to his gut. Bucky doesn’t react at all, doesn’t move, but Steve feels distance between them anyway. 

“Didn’t think so.” Bucky sighs and shifts back to his own seat and looks out his window. “She implied it was my fault. Drugs or something. That I pissed someone off. Like I got my supply from some major drug cartel and have an in with the Columbians and owe them money. I’m not sure where she thinks I’d get the money for that sort of thing. Or how I’d know anyone on that level. I mostly scored off of some random guy on a street corner. VIP room at the club was the fanciest I ever got, and more than half the time it was shitty coke anyway.”

“Fury said the press is implying you’re back on drugs.”

“Great. The president is going to love that. What’s he saying? The pressure of being on the world stage with something of merit was too much for me so I fell back into my habit of being a drain on society?”

“I don’t think anyone’s said anything.”

“He never says anything. He’s a politician. He doesn’t need to say anything.” Bucky sighs. “Jesus, I sound like a whiny teenager. The bed I made, the bed I lie in.” He gives Steve a look, and the raw invitation to lie in it with him is right there. 

“We can’t.”

“We already did.”

“We can’t _again_.” 

“Captain Rogers?” The driver glances at Steve in the rear view mirror. “We’ve got two unmarked cars behind us and...” He slams on the brakes and Steve hits the back of the passenger seat. The car skids sideways and Steve automatically pushes off the passenger seat and launches himself at Bucky, pushing him to the floor of the car. The driver grunts as something hits the car and it seems like time stops for a moment before they’re in the air and then on their side, metal scraping against the asphalt.

Sparks light up the windows, and the smell of burning metal clogs Steve’s throat. “Stay down.”

“This is getting repetitive.” Bucky shifts under Steve. “Not the you being on top of me part. The flipping cars.” Bucky tries to look over Steve’s shoulder as the car finally comes to a stop, but Steve holds him down and gets to his knees. He glances over the front seats. The driver’s window is destroyed and his head had done the skidding on the street. Steve hopes he was dead before that happened. He doesn’t remember screaming, so thankfully the odds are good. 

“Okay. Let’s get out of here.” Another jolt hits the car. Steve grabs the seat to stay upright, but there’s a second hit and the car flips onto the roof. Steve hears the too-familiar snap of bone, but he ignores it. He doesn’t actually know the situation, but he’s guessing they don’t have a lot of time for strategy, much less triage. “Can you get the door open?”

“Maybe.” Bucky turns himself around and presses his feet against the door. He pulls his knees back to his chest and kicks out. The metal groans. “It gave a little.”

“My guess is the next one’s going to come from closer, so harder. Or just plain dead-making. So.” He braces himself on the roof next to Bucky and adds his legs to the push. The metal groans again, refusing to give, but the pressure finally breaks the cracked window.

There’s a high-pitched whine that Steve recognizes all too well from Afghanistan. He grabs Bucky, shoving him to the window. “Go go go.”

Bucky starts for the window then stops. “I...”

“ _Go_!” Bucky doesn’t argue again, just crawls out of the window as quickly as he can. Steve follows him, noting a streak of blood on the glass still in the frame. He’s almost through when another blast hits the car and fire flares up hot and fast. Steve gets thrown and lands hard the hood of a distant car before he bounces down, hitting the asphalt hard, his back pressed to the curb. He can still feel the heat of the car even though he’s well beyond the fire’s reach.

Everything hurts when he moves, but he forces himself to his hands and knees, already looking for Bucky. He sees a shadow move in the flicker of the flames and spies Bucky behind a concrete stairway. He’s clutching his side, black seeping between his fingers.

Steve gets to his feet, swallowing the pain and blinking rapidly to try to stay conscious. He keeps himself bent over as he ducks behind cars, trying to stay out of sight. Car alarms are blaring along with the police and fire sirens that are getting closer. Steve knows it’s too late to see any suspects, but he looks anyway, searching other shadows as best he can.

Steve crouches down behind Bucky, trying to catch his breath. He braces his hand on the stairwell and sits, letting Bucky lean back against him. “The...The driver was already dead, right?” Bucky’s voice is thready with shock. “He didn’t die in that?”

“No. Not in that.” Steve presses his hand against Bucky’s side to feel the cut. It’s deep and bleeding heavily. Bucky must have lost his balance and impaled himself on the glass shard. Steve takes off his hoodie and gives it to Bucky. “Use this for pressure.”

“What now. Why...why me?” His weight is heavy on Steve. 

“That’s what we need to figure out. This was a deliberate attack on you. Whatever we thought was going on, I think we were wrong.” He wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist. He tells himself it’s just to help hold him up, to keep the hoodie in place, but he doesn’t manage to fool himself at all. “Fury’s team will be here soon. They had to have had a tracker on the car. We just lay low here for a little while.” He leans in and rests his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder. “Hopefully they’ll get here before you bleed out or I pass out.”

“Yeah,” Bucky laughs roughly, thickly. “Here’s hoping.”

**

“Jesus, Rogers. Can you go anywhere without someone shooting at you?”

“Pretty sure I’m not actually the target they’re aiming for.” Steve tries to sit up and groans. “I take it Barnes is okay.”

“You think I’d give a damn about you if he wasn’t.” Sam waves Steve back onto the bed and falls back in his chair. “You broke four ribs. He missed everything vital. I don’t know how you two are so lucky, but you are.”

“Good.” Steve closes his eyes and ignores the last comment. “Where is he?”

“Talking to Nat. He had some questions about something. Said he needed to talk to her.”

Steve nods. “He seemed like there was something on his mind in the car. Maybe...” 

Sam rubs his forehead with his hand. “You know he’s the target.”

“I know. How pissed off is the president knowing he’s actually been a cover for Bucky?”

“He says he’s not surprised. Makes perfect sense that Barnes would bring this sort of thing on himself.” Sam snorts. “He’s a real winner.”

“You vote for him?”

“Do I look stupid?”

“No.” Steve takes a deep breath and has to shake his head to clear his vision. “Help me up.”

Sam stands and takes Steve’s hand, pulling him into a sitting position. Sam sits on the bed next to him so Steve can wrap his arm around Sam’s waist, leaning on him more heavily than he’d like as Sam gets them both to their feet. Steve bites his lower lip as his knees tremble. “Shit.”

“Telling you to stay in bed is pointless, isn’t it?” Sam raises his eyebrows as Steve releases him to stand on his own. 

“Yes.” Steve steadies himself on the end of the bed and takes his first step. Everything feels like it shifts inside him, and the vice around his chest tightens. “Where is he?”

“Come on. Who am I to put a kibosh on a death wish?” He leads the way down the hall, and Steve appreciates the fact that Sam’s paced himself so he’s not speeding ahead of Steve. He knocks on the door at the end of a series of doors then leans inside. “Everybody decent?”

“You’re a riot, Wilson.” Natasha nods for Sam to come in though she looks annoyed, but not surprised, when she sees Steve. He looks past her to Bucky who looks too pale, dark circles under his eyes. Steve nods at him and Bucky manages something like a smile.

“You look awful,” Steve says, moving over to the side of the bed. Natasha tenses, but he ignores her, though he doesn’t actually touch Bucky.

“Damn. You mean gut wounds aren’t all the rage?”

“You two done flirting?” Natasha snaps. “Or should we wait for the rest of the mating dance?”

Bucky gives Steve a rueful smile and straightens up slightly. Steve winces in sympathy. Bucky nods at Natasha. “Tell them.”

“Tell us what?” Sam asks before Steve has a chance to.

“Patron Chemicals.” Bucky says.

“That’s where you work, right?” Sam asks. “What about them?”

“That’s what this is all about. We think.”

Natasha takes over. “Patron is responsible for the vaccine they announced last week at the UN. We all thought the attack that day was against the president, just like the first one. But both have another common factor, one that is the only consistent factor now that we’ve had a third attack.”

“Fourth.”

Natasha nods. “So if we look at James as the target-”

“Bucky. Call me Bucky, okay?”

“Fine.” Natasha’s patience is almost visibly getting thinner. “If we assume Bucky is the target, then things change, because the reasons for getting rid of him are much slimmer than reasons anyone might have to attack the president.”

“When I had my relapse, I spent a lot of time in my office.” Bucky’s voice is steady, but there’s something in it, and he doesn’t look at Steve. “I didn’t want to be at the residence, and they cut off my credit. I used the office like a hotel room, crashing there all the time.”

“None of this is making sense yet, you guys do realize that, right?” Sam leans against the wall near Natasha, and Steve sees him judge his position before he does, making sure the room isn’t divided into ‘us against them’. 

“They were working on the vaccine at the time. Pushing it hard. They’d promised it to the UN before summer started heating up in the southern hemisphere where it was going to be needed the most. I think the conversations I overheard stuck with me because, as far as I knew, the vaccine was done and it was in the production phase, but they kept talking about perfecting the formula. One of them mentioned its effect on acetylcholinesterase, and when I mentioned that to Natasha...”

“It’s a modified Sarin. a nerve agent,” Natasha says. “It was used in World War II by the Germans to try to counteract the effects of the Russian winter. The goal was to override the nervous system’s reaction to cold. They injected several of their soldiers with it, but within a week all of them were dead, burnt up from the inside. There’s no known counter for it, because no one wants to work with it, but we know it’s not responsive to atrophine or pralidoxime like Sarin is, and it has a much longer shelf life. And, up until this, supposedly the only samples were kept in a secure frozen lock-up on an undersea base in Antarctica.”

“You know, I’m beginning to think that US government needs better intelligence.” Sam gives Natasha a look. “Or, you know, they could let us do our jobs.”

“The vaccine is the only reason someone would have to target Barnes, the only thing high-profile and profitable enough to warrant this sort of reaction. They think he knows something, and they mean to stop him from telling. Or trying to get something out of it.”

“So we just test the vaccine?” Steve asks.

“Testing the vaccine means knowing exactly what we’re looking for. Besides, the odds of us getting something other than a placebo they’ve worked up are slim. They’ve already show results to the UN. Paid off the right people to make sure that it got all the right endorsements to clear the CDC. It’s got to be someone with some pretty high rank behind this.”

“But it’s a one time shot. When a huge swath of a population suddenly dies after delivery, someone’s going to get suspicious..”

“They’re making a _lot_ of money off this deal even if it’s just a one-off. Government contracts don’t just disappear when something goes wrong. They’re delivering the vaccines with UN watchdogs, not having the UN deliver it. Just its existence is a threat, even if they don’t go through with it. And if they do, they’ve already got a scapegoat lined up.” Natasha glances at Sam. “We can’t risk sending Barnes back in, so Sam and I are going in undercover.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m going with you.”

“No.” Natasha doesn’t give him time to say more. “You have another job to do.”

“Bucky’s incapacitated.”

Natasha moves faster than Steve can react, punching him in the ribs. Steve grabs onto the wall to keep from falling. “So are you.”

“I’m...”

“Besides, you’ve been seen with Barnes,” Sam interrupts before anything else gets said. “Or might have been. You’re a liability.”

“And you don’t have a background in chemistry or biochemical weapons, not to mention the fact that your undercover assignments haven’t been in civilian infiltration. So let us do what we’re good at.”

Steve wants to argue, but he knows they’re right and, more importantly, that Natasha’s not going to change her mind. “So what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to keep you guys here, let people speculate. No definite statement regarding what happened to Barnes. Critical condition, maybe a few hints that things don’t look good. A few slips that make everyone think the family’s hiding something.”

“And in reality?”

“You’ll be working with Fredricks to stop the transport of the vaccine and containment plans for any that might get through.”

“Wait a minute.” Bucky props himself up. “What about me?”

“You’ll stay put,” Natasha snaps. “Where you won’t get hurt. Or actually killed.”

“Steve’s supposed to be my bodyguard.”

“There are a lot of things that Steve’s supposed to be.” She doesn’t actually say anything else, but the reprimand is clear. “We’ll assign Hill to watch you.”

“No!” Bucky says sharply. “She _shot_ me. “

“Not with anything lethal.” Natasha hands Sam a tablet. “Besides, you’ll be in bed recovering.”

“He needs to recover too.”

“Not in your bed.” Natasha’s looks at Bucky, her eyes flashing. “This is about millions of lives, not you getting laid.”

“Wow. Thanks for thinking that I have no morals. I appreciate that.” 

Natasha smirks. “Because the thought of having sex with him while you’re ‘recovering’ never once crossed your mind.”

Bucky starts to say something, but Sam holds up his hand. “Okay, enough. Nat, we don’t have the time or resources to babysit these two. Unless you’ve got some cell made out of impenetrable glass or alien steel or something. Which I’m pretty sure we don’t.”

“That’s classified.”

“So we have to trust Thing One and Thing Two here to behave themselves. Barnes plays dead. Steve holes up with him and keeps him from really getting killed in case things go wrong. Hill stands by the tranq gun for whoever ends up needing it. It’s not perfect, but unless you want to drag them along on leashes, it’s our best bet.”

Natasha paces the room, every click of her heels loud in the silence. Steve’s head is pounding, and he’s wondering when he’ll get to go back to bed. He’s hoping it will be soon or he’s going to embarrass himself by passing out across Bucky’s bed. Finally Natasha stops and looks at Steve. “You have your orders, Captain Rogers.”

Steve nods once and Natasha shakes her head and looks at Sam. “We’ll need to sit down with Barnes tonight and get some information. Fury will work on getting us in in some capacity. Then we’ll buy you an actual _nice_ suit.”

“Excuse me? My clothes are all of the finest quality.”

“Exactly. I need you to look the part, not dressed to kill.” She smiles at Sam and Steve ducks his head. It doesn’t look incongruous on her face, and he’s ashamed that he thought it would. “Rogers, why don’t you go back to bed for a while. You’re going to need your strength to keep this one in line, I’m pretty sure.”

“You’d be surprised how obedient almost being killed makes me,” Bucky reminds her.

“Barnes, someone’s been trying to kill you for over a month and it hasn’t stopped you from being a spiteful, irresponsible, risk-taking dumbass.” Natasha glances at him just long enough to dismiss him. “So excuse me if I’m a little skeptical. Rogers. Go.”

Steve nods and heads toward the door. Exhaustion suddenly feels like a pillow trying to smother him, and he would be perfectly okay curling up on the floor, except it means he’d have to get up eventually and just the walk back to his room hurts. He can hear Bucky as the door is closing behind him and he smiles slightly. Bucky’s not going to win, but he’s arguing just the same. The sound disappears when the door finally closes and Steve walks back to his room, asleep almost before he’s actually on the bed.

**

“Agent Hill is seriously going to spend her career standing out in the hallway with a tranquilizer gun, isn’t she? She enjoys it.”

Steve sinks into the chair furthest from Bucky’s bed. “She’s following orders.”

“I’m not sure who’s worse. Her or Natasha.” He glances at Steve and shrugs. “That’s a lie. I don’t trust Agent Hill. I’m scared to death of Natasha.”

“There’s no reason to be scared. You’re not the bad guy.”

“I’m not sure it matters.” Bucky sighs. “Besides, it’s only because we figured out what was happening.” Bucky sits on the edge of his bed. He yawns and stretches, coiling back in on himself when he gets to the point that his stitches pull. Steve can see it on his face, see the wince in the second before Bucky lowers his arms. “Why do you think they’re doing this?”

“For that exact reason. They’re afraid you’ve figured it out.”

“But I wouldn’t have if they’d never done anything. I was drunk and high. I barely remembered my own name half the time.”

“Millions of lives are at stake. Probably billions of dollars. They can’t take the chance. Maybe they’re hoping you’ll be too busy running for your life to figure it out, to present proof to anyone. And if you’re dead, it would be easy for them to lay all of it at your feet in the end.”

“This sucks.” Bucky falls back against the mattress and covers his face with his arms. “I never wanted any of this. I had a place and a life before I ended up back here. I was actually a mostly functional adult.”

“Well, you know what they say about bad habits.” Steve stretches out his legs and lets his head fall against the back of the chair. He glances at Bucky out of the corner of his eye then closes them, his face slanted toward the ceiling. “What was it? The reason you relapsed?”

“There wasn’t a reason. I mean, other than I’m an addict. Everyone wants you to be the fuck-up they have documented proof that you are, so they can feel better about themselves. So they provide the weapon and you shoot yourself in the head with it. And everything goes downhill in a heartbeat.”

“You need a better set of people to hang out with.”

“You mean because they...encouraged me to fall off the wagon?”

“Sounds more like they pushed. But, yeah, that and the mass genocide they appear to be gearing up for. Generally not a thing that nice people do.”

“Since my mom married the president, I don’t think I’ve actually met a single nice person. At least not until you and your team.”

“We’re not always nice people.”

“Nice people have to do bad things sometimes. Make hard choices. But they’re still good people. People who try to do it for the right reason.”

“No. There isn’t a ‘right’ reason.” Steve opens his eyes and looks right at Bucky. “There are ulterior motives that we agree with or that seem like the lesser of two evils. Good guys and bad guys are subjective.”

“Bullshit. Genocide is bad. There’s no lesser about that evil.” Bucky levers off the bed and walks over to Steve, wincing as he sinks down to his knees in front of Steve. “You’re a good guy.” Bucky rests his hands on Steve’s thighs just above the knee and slowly slides them toward Steve’s hips.

Steve catches Bucky’s wrists and stills his hands. “With a job to do.”

Bucky frowns and then sighs. “I’m assuming you don’t mean hand jobs or blow jobs.”

Steve laughs roughly. “Nope.”

“Strict orders?”

“Natasha’s orders.” 

Bucky blows out a breath and sinks back onto his heels. “Well. Shit.”

“I’m not supposed to get distracted. Again.”

“Distracted from what? We’re holed up in the presidential residence. There are more Secret Service outside than there are DC tourists. Plus we’ve got Agent Hill right outside the door. Their job is to keep anyone from getting through to distract you.”

“I have my orders.”

“You had your orders before.”

“Not explicitly. I was told to protect you.”

“And we wore condoms.”

“We’re not having sex again, Bucky.”

Bucky starts to reply, but stops when Agent Hill walks in. Her eyes survey the room at a glance and Steve sees a flicker of something on her face, but it disappears before Steve can guess what it means. 

“We’ve got the command center set up. We need you both on deck in five.”

Steve stands up, not looking at Bucky as the movement brings Bucky’s mouth close to Steve’s crotch. Bucky exhales and Steve can feel the heat, feel his cock jerk. He steps to the side and reaches out, offering his hand to Bucky. 

Bucky’s grip is warm and solid. His fingers press against Steve’s pulse, and Steve releases him as soon as Bucky’s on his feet. Bucky gives Steve a slight smirk, the quirk of his lips not quite a smile.

They follow Agent Hill down the hall where Fury’s team has set up a new command post. It’s not as involved as Fury’s main base, but there are enough computers and monitors to put most data centers to shame. Fury’s standing by a group of agents discussing a display on one of the scenes.

“That’s the layout of the bio labs. R&D is three levels below,” Bucky whispers to Steve.”Those are testing centers.”

“How would they have tested this?”

Fury looks over at Steve. “I don’t think we want to know that, do you?”

Steve turns his gaze away, turning back to the monitor. “So what’s the plan?”

One of the women at the computer hits a key and puts the schematics on a larger screen mounted on the wall. “Agent Romanov is going in as a repair tech. She’ll put a tracker virus in their system. It’ll analyze data, word patterns, time stamps in their mainframe. We’ll use the dates Mr. Barnes gave us as a starting point, then we’ll follow the data to find out who’s responsible.”

Bucky hasn’t looked away from the screen, and he’s frowning in concentration. “There’s something wrong.”

“These are the officially filed prints.” The agent at the keyboard glances at Bucky. “What’s wrong with it?”

Bucky walks over to the screen and shakes his head. “There’s not a room here. There are labs A, B, and C. This shows four labs.”

“Maybe they remodeled and expanded some of the labs to take over the space?” Hill joins Bucky at the screen. “It’d be easy to take out walls and give each lab more room.” She points. “Here and here.”

“Each lab is self-contained, climate controlled. To expand it, they’d have to entirely redo the duct system, the air filtration and HVAC. They’d have to file new plans.” Bucky taps the screen. “It’s not right.”

Fury keys a code into a panel on the main board in front of him. “Wilson.”

“Yeah?” Sam’s voice is a little hollow sounding on the connection. “Talk to me.”

“The bio labs on sublevel seven. Do some recon.”

“Look at the duct work. That’ll be the way in.” Bucky’s still frowning. “Might be dangerous.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam laughs. “I’m a trained professional.”

“Don’t get cocky.” Natasha’s voice is tinny. “I’m not going to risk my ass rescuing you too.”

“You just hurt my feelings.”

“I’ll hurt more than that if you two don’t get the job done. Now get to work.” Fury cuts the speaker. “You two go back and play dead some more until we have more information.”

“Or we could stay here and help,” Steve suggests.

“I’ve got all the help I need, Captain Rogers. Agent Hill will escort you back.”

Bucky glances at Steve, and Steve focuses on keeping his expression blank. He’s not happy with being pushed off like he’s in the way or useless.

“Don’t even think about it, Captain Rogers.” Agent Hill walks up to Steve and gestures toward the door. “I’m an expert shot, and you can ask Mr. Barnes how much the darts hurt.”

“I still have bruises,” Bucky says. “I’m considering a lawsuit.”

“I’m considering not protecting you from the bad guys.” Hill gestures to the door again, this time with the tranquilizer gun. “Be nice boys and go.”

**

Steve spends as much time in the control room as he can, trying to stay out of Bucky’s room and, more importantly, away from Bucky’s bed. He knows Bucky is bored with playing dead. And Bucky and bored are a dangerous combination. He encourages Bucky to come with him to the command center, since he knows more about the company and the layout than anyone, and he does, describing it to Fury and Hill who relay the information to Sam and Natasha. After planting the tracker, Natasha goes in as a representative from the UN, seemingly a completely different person with her perfect Russian accent. It’s a disconnect to hear her and not see her, especially with the change in her voice.

Bucky joins Steve in the gym, pacing him when he runs and watching him as they spot each other on the weights or hold for each other as they use the punching bag. It’s unnerving after a while, because Bucky’s eyes seem haunted some of the time. Steve wants to ask, but he’s not sure he actually wants to know. 

On Friday afternoon they both sit in the gym and towel off, Steve scrubbing his face to get rid of the sweat. When he pulls the towel away, Bucky’s got his head back, his throat exposed and Steve fights the urge to walk over and straddle him, lick the sweat from his throat up to the hollow of his ear before burying himself in the smell of him. Steve licks his lips and looks at the ground.

“Do you remember the stuff you did when you were on drugs?”

“Most of it. Some of it I was blacked out. I’d wake up in beds I didn’t recognize with people I didn’t recognize and not know what we’d done. I mean, I could guess, but the night would be a blank. Like someone had taken an eraser and wiped it from my memory. Sometimes there are thoughts or images in my head that might be memories. I don’t know.”

“Do you wish you could remember?”

“More than I do? No. I mean, I remember the overdoses. Well, more the aftermath of them. The president was more concerned that I’d contracted AIDS from the adrenaline shot than from the fact that I’d almost died. I think he’d prefer that I’d died. The second time was what sent me to rehab for real. It was horrible. That rehab stuck. Almost stuck. Being clean and sober was miserable. And then I relapsed. And then people started trying to kill me.” He kicks out and hits Steve’s foot. “What about you?”

“I’ve never OD’d.”

“Yeah, I know. I can tell. Your body is a temple.” Bucky smiles slowly, eyes hooded when Steve looks up. “You know what people do at temples? Worship.” He moves to the edge of the bench he’s sitting on and wraps his hands around the wood like he’s going to move off of it, sink to his knees and do just that.

“What about me what?”

Bucky sighs and slides further back onto the bench. “Afghanistan, right? Before babysitting duty.”

“Classified.”

“I’m not asking for your coordinates. You’ve already told me you were there. Sleeping on the ground. What did you think about when you were doing that? Did you miss home? Did you jerk off in the desert? Did anyone see your idealized American good looks and wonder what you were doing skulking around and hiding in caves?”

“I wouldn’t be hiding very well if people saw me. And it’s not like I was over there wearing the stars and stripes. I was in camoflauge and dirty. Sand in my hair and my eyes and in every nook and cranny. There’s probably still sand in places I don’t even want to think about.”

“I could find it for you.”

“Bucky.”

“Fine.” He stands up and stretches, his t-shirt riding up and exposing a strip of skin, dark hair wet with sweat and arrowed down toward Bucky’s groin. Steve bites the inside of his lip to keep from groaning, to keep from surging up to his feet and tackling Bucky to the ground. “I’m going to shower. I won’t ask you to join me, since you’re intent on being a monk.”

“On doing my job.”

“You _did_ your job. I’m safe. I’m alive. This is just Natasha punishing you.”

“If I was punishing him, he’d be much worse off.” Natasha walks into the gym in a pair of black sweats and tank top. “You guys look wiped. Been working hard?”

“We’d be working hard if you’d let us,” Bucky links his fingers behind his back and leans forward, stretching again. “Instead we’re twiddling our thumbs and telling you stuff you’ve probably already figured out on your own.”

Sam comes in and starts walking around the track before speeding his pace a little at a time. Natasha watches him and then turns her back on Bucky and Steve to join him. They pace each other as well, in perfect sync. 

“How come you guys get to have sex and we don’t?”

Sam throws Bucky a glance. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“Nice try. It was repealed.”

Natasha doesn’t even bother to look at them. Her voice says it all. “Not when it involves my sex life.”

**

Steve’s still rubbing his hair dry when he walks into Bucky’s bedroom from the en suite bath. Bucky’s still in his towel, lying on the bed with his eyes closed. Steve looks away and goes over to his own cot that they’ve set up, the chairs pushed into the corner to make room even though it was probably unnecessary. Steve can’t keep his eyes averted for long, looking at Bucky’s smooth skin to where it’s puckered and bright pink around the scar from the glass. The scar disappears under the towel when Steve follows it down with his eyes.

“They said ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’.” Bucky turns his head and looks at Steve.

“Buck...”

Bucky stands up and lets the towel fall to the floor. His cock is half-hard and the dark hair surrounding it is still damp, droplets of water clinging to the strands. “So I’m not asking.” He sinks to his knees in front of Steve and looks him in the eye. “So if you don’t want this – not if you aren’t supposed to have it, but if you don’t _want_ it – then say no and I won’t. We’ll pretend this never happened.” Bucky drops one hand to his dick and curls it around it, squeezing lightly. 

Steve bites his lip hard enough to sting. He tries to close his eyes, but they’re locked on Bucky’s hand as it moves slightly, thumb and forefinger framing the head. 

“Are you going to say no, Steve?”

Steve shakes his head and he can see the faint hint of Bucky’s smile just on the edge of his vision. Bucky tightens his hand and slides it back down to the base, moving the heel of his palm so his fingers are pressed against his body. He’s hardening, almost completely hard, and Steve makes a noise low in his throat. This time Bucky laughs, low and hot and it makes something light on fire at the base of Steve’s dick. “Good.”

Bucky starts stroking himself, taking his time building up to a steady rhythm. He squeezes and moves his hand in a frustratingly slow pace and Steve has to tense every muscle to keep himself in place. He wets his lips and swallows, wanting to say something, but the words can’t make it past his still dry throat. 

“Think about this incessantly. Think about you. How you feel. How you taste. Fuck, Steve. Want you inside me. Want to be inside you.”

“Bucky...” His voice is barely loud enough to hear and he digs his nails into his palms as his hands curl into fists. 

“Want to suck your cock. Take you so deep in my throat I can feel you choking me. Want to swallow you down when you lose control and come. Want to suck and bite the inside of your thighs. Want to suck your balls into my mouth and trap them between my tongue and the roof of my mouth until you beg for mercy.”

Steve’s breath shudders out of him and his mouth opens again, but this time no sound makes it out. Bucky doesn’t look away from him, doesn’t let his gaze waver at all. He takes the hand he’s not stroking himself with from around the base of his dick and reaches back, sliding it over his ass. Steve can tell by the jerk of Bucky’s hips when his finger rubs over his opening. 

“Want your hands. Your fingers.” Bucky’s voice has dropped lower. His cock droops slightly and his eyes twitch with a slight wince, and Steve knows he’s penetrated himself, pushed past the muscle without lube. His voice breaks. “F-fuck, Steve.”

Steve has to close his eyes, overwhelmed by the sight in front of him. He grinds one fist against his dick and huffs out a rough breath at the pressure. When he forces his eyes open again, Bucky’s mouth is wet from where his tongue has slid over his lips, his eyes closed and his head back as he strokes and fingers himself. He can’t manage to ask Bucky to stop, doesn’t _want_ him to stop.

Bucky’s stopped talking, too busy panting out rough breaths that leave his mouth wet and open. Steve flattens his fist so his palm is against his cock, pressing against it. Bucky looks like sin, and Steve wants to do everything Bucky’s said over and over again. Instead he closes his eyes, not allowing himself to look as Bucky’s gasps shift up an octave and then soften into heavy breathing, the sound of him stroking slicker, wetter.

Steve dares to look and Bucky’s fist and stomach are covered with come and his hand’s still around his cock. Bucky’s eyes are closed and his whole body moves with every breath. He tilts his head forward and looks at Steve. His voice is rough, raw. “I didn’t ask.” 

Steve nods and finds his voice, though he doesn’t recognize it. “I w-won’t tell.”

**

Steve puts more distance between them after that, trying his best to ignore the hot looks that Bucky sends his way whenever they’re alone. Bucky’s eyes are full of promise, full of reminders of what he wants. What they both want. When they start driving everyone crazy by loitering in the room and asking questions, Fury finally puts them to work. He has Bucky with Agent Carter to break down the compounds that are mentioned in the data and emails, and he tells Steve to figure out Patron’s plan to drop the vaccine under the UN’s watchdogs.

Steve glances over when a loud discussion starts over in Bucky’s area. Fury stalks over and Steve joins them. Bucky’s discussing complicated formulas with Agent Carter, who looks like she understands what he’s saying. Fury looks at Carter for a translation.

“They’re using this codename for the vaccine. It looks like they’re delivering it to the UN tonight. No pomp and circumstance.”

“The original plan was to distribute it right away,” Steve states. “There are reports of TB outbreaks coming in from Africa and South America. We can’t verify them, but they look legit. So that means the UN’s scrambling to do something, so they’re probably going to send it out now without a big launch, likely without watchdogs. If Bucky’s their scapegoat, they’ll want to lay the blame at his feet before he’s no longer being eulogized.”

Fury glances at Hill and nods. “Get Romanoff and Wilson in here. Send the coordinates to Stark and Barton. I want them on standby at the airport. If Stark accidentally disables something I promise to reprimand him with blueberries.”

“On it.” Hill opens a secure line and starts talking almost immediately. Steve looks at Fury.

“I’m going too.”

“The doc says you’re okay and I’ll let you go.” Fury doesn’t look away. “But if he says no, you’re getting locked in Barnes’s room with him. Understood?”

“Wait. What?” Bucky stands up. “I’m not getting locked in my room. I should be there. I appreciate that you guys are super smart and trained, but you don’t know how to handle this vaccine. Agent Carter and I have gotten the formula and examined it from front to back. We can neutralize it.”

“You can do that when we get it isolated.”

“They’re going to deliver a batch without the stabilizing agent so that the delivery crew don’t make it out alive. You need it neutralized, and I can do it. Tell Romanoff to break into the lab and I’ll tell her exactly what I need. It’s _me_ they’re trying to kill. I’ve got a stake in this.”

Fury’s mouth purses and Steve can see the pulse in his jaw throbbing. “I can’t let you do that. You’re the son of the president.”

“Step son.” Bucky shakes his head. “And that doesn’t matter. If something happens to me, hell, if I really die, at least it will be doing something worthy. Saving lives.” He glances at Steve. “I didn’t join the military, but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to fight.”

“Truth, justice, and the American way?” Fury sneers.

“No. Fixing my mistakes.” Bucky doesn’t look away. Fury does. 

“You die, it’s your own damn fault. I’m not the one telling the president.”

“Why not?” Bucky smirks. “He’d probably give you a medal.”

“Go with Hill and suit up.”

“Not without backup.”

Steve catches a twitch in Fury’s stern visage that he thinks might be a hint of a smile. “Rogers. Keep Hill from getting too trigger-happy.”

“Like I couldn’t shoot both of them,” Hill mutters under her breath as she turns on her heel and heads for the door. “Come on before I _do_ shoot you.”

Bucky glances back at Steve and he’s smiling. “Yes, ma’am.”

**

“That’s Rumlow,” Bucky points to one of the guys on the screen. He’s dressed in casual gear, but Steve can identify the tell-tale tweaks in his outfit that cover hidden weapons. “He’s head of security and he’s dangerous.”

Steve notices the catch in Bucky’s voice and files it away. Obviously Rumlow’s been something other than dangerous to Bucky. Or he’s been dangerous in a completely different way. “Bartlett and Hansen are part of his tactical team. I don’t recognize the others, but that doesn’t mean they’re not on staff.”

“Could be hired guns,” Hill glances at Agent Carter. “You’re on point with Barnes. As soon as the site is secure, you two go. Get in, do science, get out. I want you back here before I notice you’re gone. We need samples...”

“Why?” Bucky asks.

“Because if they can figure this out, then someone else might be able to, and I don’t know about you, but I’d actually _like_ to have some sort of cure. Do as you’re told and we might hire you. We don’t pay the same as most biotech companies, but we’re usually a little less likely to commit genocide.”

“That’s probably what Mengele told people.” Bucky says. “Or, to be fair, he probably didn’t. Which at least made him not a liar.”

“I’m sure that’s a comfort to everyone,” Hill snaps. “If I have to send someone in to save your ass, I’m going to be pissed. And not armed with a tranq gun.” She pulls a pistol from her belt and slides a cartridge into it. She turns it and hands it to Bucky butt first. “Try not to shoot yourself.”

She turns away from him, though the expression on her face makes it clear she sees the sketchy salute Bucky gives her. Steve’s standing at parade rest facing her and Bucky, but manages not to smile, though it takes effort.

“Romanoff and Wilson are running the other two tac teams. I want you to hit Rumlow hard. Wilson’s got the scientist contingent and Romanoff will be coming in from the back after disabling the air transport and airport equipment set up to take everything to the plane. I imagine she’ll run into resistance, so you might be on your own for a while. Estimate targets are 50, but we don’t have solid intel on the number. They may already have people in place ready for the drop. We don’t risk an attack before the drop to clear everything out, because we don’t know their communication system, but we’re assuming it’s high-tech, possibly biotech based. You’ll all go in with protective gear and gas masks. They plan to slaughter millions of people, I’m pretty sure they’re not going to be too concerned about taking you guys along with them. Be careful, be safe. And don’t fuck up.”

“You suck at pep talks,” Steve tells her.

“That wasn’t a pep talk. Don’t just stand here and look pretty. Suit up.”

Steve does as he’s told, getting his gear on and testing his air supply and weapons. The suit completely freaks him out since it’s more of a weird plastic coating that molds to his body and clothes than any kind of MOPP suit he’s had before. No one else seems disturbed by it, though someone does say something about Stark’s creepy obsessions, so he doesn’t think about it and he doesn’t ask how he’s supposed to ever get it off. 

His comm crackles in his ear when he places it. “Shrink-wrapped and ready to go.”

“You’re a funny guy, Rogers.” It’s Stark’s voice in his ear. “I’m gonna use that. You’ve got air support ready. Low commercial plane coming in as they drive up to get you visuals. You’ve got a display screen to the right in your helmet. Don’t tune it to any porn.”

“Has anyone ever given you the impression that you’re funny? Because if so, you’ve surrounded yourself with liars.”

“Enough flirting.” Hill snaps.

Steve ignores Stark’s laugh and nods to his team. They move toward the door and wait for the go signal. Steve can hear his own breathing, and he’s careful not to look at the display screen Stark mentioned, since all it does is distract him. He steals a piece of fabric off of a jacket hanging on the wall and covers the screen with it.

“Hey!” Stark whines as Hill gives the go. The front of the team opens the doors and they swarm out into the shadows. It’s early enough that the sky is still dark enough to make them nearly invisible. Steve sees the hint of movement that could be just the shifting of lights and traffic in the distance or could be Wilson or Romanoff’s teams. He can hear the low murmur of voices, whispered orders that he ignores as he signals his team into their places. Every distant rumble of the nearby roads makes him tense, wondering which vehicles will pull into the warehouse grounds and try to kill them.

There’s a small flash of light and a far off thud that means first contact, and Steve bites back a grin as Sam’s voice comes over the comms. “The best part of waking up.”

“Yeah, they’re grrrrrreat,” Natasha agrees. “Now shut up.”

Steve seems movement at the back of the warehouse and he and his team circle around another one of the buildings. There’s a group of five guys, all dressed in black, only lit by the glow of their cigarette embers. He can’t hear their conversation, but their gestures indicate that the person down at the front is part of their crew. They look big enough to be there for the loading and unloading and their forklift is idling outside the wide open back doors. 

Steve nods to Lewis and she preps the metal disc, firing it out of the specially made rifle. It slices through the gas line and pings lightly off the metal of the forklift. One of the guys goes to investigate and he doesn’t do anything to keep his tirade quiet. Steve and his team take advantage of the noise and close in.

Two heavily armed men come out of the warehouse. “What the hell’s the problem out here?”

“Severed gas line from the looks of it.” Two of the other loaders have walked over to the forklift. The one Steve assumes is the leader stays to talk to the armed men. “We’ll have to get the other one. It’s not rated as high for poundage, so we’re going to have to break your shipment down smaller.”

“That’s not going to work for us.”

“Yeah, well, vague threats aren’t going to fix the forklift. So...” He doesn’t finish his thought before a shot comes from inside the warehouse and catches him through the throat. Blood splatters onto one of his crew and general panic kicks in. Blood is spurting from the man’s neck as he drops to his knees, mouth opening and closing without sound.

“Move, and watch the civilians.” Steve says into the comm as he grips his weapon and slips around the outskirts of his team as they close in on the warehouse. “We’re going in. Warehouse crew appears to be hired. At least three hostiles, probably more inside.”

“Got the front,” Sam answers.

“We’ve got four semis approaching,” Hill states. “Move now.”

Everything moves faster after that even though it seems like time slows down. Every bullet feels like it’s moving through liquid, silent until it hits the target and then all the sound comes rushing back. The loading crew move behind the forklift, but one of them picks up a fallen rifle and starts shooting randomly. Two of Steve’s team get hit and he tags another member to haul them to safety. When they breach the warehouse interior, Sam’s team is busting through the front door, guns blazing. 

Steve ducks as someone takes a swing at him with the butt of a rifle; he wraps his hand around the barrel of the gun and lets the momentum send him onto his back on the concrete, jerking his attacker over with him. Steve rolls him over and pins him, punching him until he stops moving. Steve can hear the whistle of air as he tries to breathe through a broken nose, so he leaves him where he lays. 

There are too many people and not enough room for anyone to fire safely, so fighting moves to close range. Steve’s not used to the physical brawl despite his practice with the bag, so he can feel the weight of his movements on his shoulders and fists. Some of the others are faring worse than he is, but it seems evenly distributed between Fury’s teams and the biotech team. There’s the distant sound of an explosion though it’s close enough to rock the building. A second one comes, and Natasha’s curse is loud and sharp. 

Sam catches Steve’s eye and Steve nods, so Sam and two of his team take off for the outside tarmac and the semis. Flames dance in the corner of Steve’s eye, less distracting than the faint flicker from Stark’s screen that he can still see through the cloth. Steve ducks a swing from Rumlow, recognizing him from the video. After that he can’t focus on anything else, since Rumlow seems determined to kill Steve or die trying. Steve’s in better shape, but Rumlow is fast and fights dirty.

Another explosion blows one of the doors off the warehouse and the cacophony of voices over the comms is like sharp feedback in Steve’s ears. Fury’s voice stands out over the rest of them, bellowing like an angry bull. “Where the _fuck_ is Barnes?”

It catches Steve by surprise and Rumlow feints left and jabs a shock stick against Steve’s right side. Steve gasps in pain, his nerves on fire even after he manages to get Rumlow away from him. Once there’s space between them, Steve launches himself at Rumlow and knocks him to the ground. Steve hears a bone crack and he’s not sure whether it’s his or Rumlow’s, since his pain centers are overloaded and incapable of processing anything. Rumlow’s reaction hints that it wasn’t Steve’s, but Steve doesn’t take any chances, doing his best to knock Rumlow completely out of commission. 

“Watch him!” Steve shouts as he heads out the door to the semis. Two of the four are in ruins, their trailers completely destroyed. Sam’s working in conjunction with Natasha around the third semi,. She weaves in and out of the fight and Sam’s moving so fast he looks like he’s flying. There’s a low-flying aircraft dropping something on the smoldering semis, a foamy liquid that solidifies like a bubble around them, putting the fires out almost immediately. 

Steve dodges the few drops that bounce off of the solid dome around the semi, and heads to the fourth rig. There’s some sort of generator running inside it, and the whole thing seems to vibrate with the sound of it. Hill and Fury seem to be in a contest to see who can bark the most orders into the comm, so Steve tugs the device out of his ear as he runs toward the truck. 

He can still hear them yelling, but he ignores them, grabbing the handle on the back of the trailer and boosting himself up onto the lip. He rips open the other door and another explosion echoes in the distance. “You need to get out of here.” His chest feels too tight, like he can’t breathe, like his heart is beating far too fast. “Out. Out. The trailers are all going up.”

“It’s unstable. If this one blows, we’re all dead.” Bucky doesn’t look back at Steve. “You need to get the hell out of here.”

“I’m supposed to protect you.”

“Yeah, well, I guess this time I’m protecting you. Now _get out_.”

Agent Carter pushes Steve out of the trailer and pulls the door shut before he can get off the ground. He puts the earpiece back in in the middle of Fury going off like some sort of biblical firestorm. “Goddamn it, Rogers, answer your fucking comm, you stupid piece of...”

“Stark,” Steve interrupts before Fury can get any farther. “What the hell does that stuff you’re dropping on the trucks do?”

“Isolates the oxygen molecules and freezes them. Your buddy said that freezing the stuff might work, so we’re trying this. It’s a new thing. Haven’t come up with a snazzy name yet. I mean, if it were lingerie, I could get away with Stark Naked, but this...eh.”

“Tony!” Hill yells.

“Right right. Sorry. Right now it’s an environmental bubble that contains it. We’ll have to go in with masks and freeze the vaccine containers individually until we can figure out how exactly to counteract it.”

“Destroy it.”

“Right. Destroy. Good plan,” Tony doesn’t sound convincing at all.

“Can anyone breathe in one of those bubbles?”

“Er, no. Well, they can breathe in the gas. So, um, sorry about the drivers.”

“Give me five minutes and two of your saran wrap suits, then drop the stuff on the fourth truck.”

“Cap, even with the suits, if they’re in there, they can’t get out. It’s a stasis situation, like being frozen in amber. They can’t move. They can’t walk out. And they’d run out of air eventually. And if you leave a hole in the structure, it’s useless unless you want everyone to die.” This time Tony does sound convincing, though it’s more the hollowness of his voice that makes Steve know he’s telling the truth. 

“Do we know anything about how this unstable stuff will react with your goop? Can I drag them out of there?” Another explosion, this time in the warehouse. The walls shake and the roof starts to crumble. A mass of people swarm out, impossible to tell who is who in the fire’s shadow. “Stark!”

“Shit. No. We don’t have the data. Pepper and Jarvis are doing their best, but there’s not a lot of research on this stuff, given that everyone thought it didn’t exist.”

“Everyone except the government.”

“Shit. You’re brilliant.” Tony’s line goes dead and Steve doesn’t know what to do. Most of the people who aren’t on Fury’s team are cuffed or in vans already. Natasha and Sam are standing together near two bodies on the ground, and Steve doesn’t have to be there to know that they’re from one of the tac teams. 

The generator sound stops and the silence is ominous. Even the crackling of the fire and the shift of the burning building sound far away like the air pressure has changed around them. Steve takes a few steps toward the truck and then stops, clenching his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palm. “Come on, Stark. Come on.” It takes everything he has not to charge the truck and drag Bucky and agent Carter out against their will. Especially since he’s also fighting the rising panic in the shape of Bucky’s name at the back of his throat. “Come on, Stark!”

The comm crackles in his ear and the voice isn’t Stark’s. It’s someone British and calm, which makes Steve even more panicked. “Captain Rogers. We can contain the chemical in its unbalanced state for a short period of time. Apparently the makeup of it is such that-”

He keeps talking, but Steve’s not listening. He’s already running to the truck and wrenching to door open hard enough that it feels like it’s going to come off its hinges. “ _Out! Now!_.” He grabs agent Carter and shoves her toward the door, pushing her again when she balks at the edge. She manages to land and roll away from the truck with a minimum of damage as far as Steve can tell. He wishes he could actually care, but he’s too busy running to Bucky.

“Steve, I told you to...”

“Shut up.” Steve grabs Bucky’s arm and pulls. “Stark can contain it.”

“I’ve almost got it!” He jerks his arm free of Steve’s grip. “Let me do this. I’m _good_ at this.”

“I don’t want you good and _dead_.”

Bucky hits a few more keystrokes and then presses the send button. A strange cycle of code flies across the screen too fast to read and then the generator kicks on again making the whole trailer vibrate. Bucky stares at the screen for a few seconds and shakes his head. “We should go. Now.”

“That’s what I’ve been-”

Bucky grabs Steve’s arm and starts running for the back of the trailer. “ _Now_.”

Steve slams into the closed door with his shoulder as they reach the back of the trailer, both of them stumbling to stay on their feet as the walls of the trailer start to glow and the metal seems to expand. “Is it supposed to do that?” He can’t feel his left arm at all, and he’s almost afraid to look and see the damage. Bucky staggers forward and then turns around, grabbing Steve and hauling him back further. Steve can’t feel anything, but the numbness is more worrying than pain. “It’s not supposed to do that, is it?”

“No. Come on, Rogers.” 

There’s a loud twang of metal snapping and then a moan as it buckles. Steve can see the first starburst of explosion in the split second before a cascade of Stark’s goop falls down and smothers it. It causes another jolt to go through the ground and this time both he and Bucky are thrown off their feet. Steve can’t brace himself from the fall with his arm, so his face gets scraped along the asphalt. He closes his eyes and just lies there, trying to hear Bucky breathing through all the other noise.

“Shit. Are we dead?”

“Maybe.” Steve winces when he talks. 

Bucky sits up and groans, his hand going to his stomach. Steve can see blood seeping through his clothes. “Shit. Now Natasha’s going to say ‘I told you so’.” 

“I was going to say that anyway.” Natasha offers Bucky her hand and helps him to his feet. “Medics are on their way.” She looks down at Steve and offers him her right hand instead. “Which looks like a good thing for both of you.”

“How’s agent Carter?” Steve hisses as cold air hits the raw skin on his face. “I didn’t mean to push quite so hard.”

Natasha nods to where agent Carter is standing nearby in a group with Fury and Hill. She smiles at Steve and shakes her head. “Don’t worry, He-man. You may not know your own strength, but I can handle it.”

“No doubt.” The wail of sirens gets louder and Steve closes his eyes. “How many did we lose?”

“Ten,” Natasha’s voice is solemn. “They lost more.” There’s no satisfaction in her voice, just the same level tone. “As far as we can tell, everyone made it out of the burning building.”

“Even Rumlow?”

Natasha’s shoulders sag. “Apparently not everyone.” She rakes her fingers through her hair, leaving it an uneven mess. “Let’s get you two looked over. And then I need food and a drink. Make it quick with the medics, and I’ll even let you come along.”

**

Bucky gets taken to hospital, and Natasha and Sam remind Steve that there are a lot of other people that need more help than he does, so he doesn’t get to ride along in the ambulance after his shoulder is reset and his arm put in a sling. He gets dragged to a hole-in-the-wall place with a diner and a seriously sketchy bar set off to one side through a set of swinging doors. They appear to know Natasha, given how they leave her alone until she signals them. 

The menu is in Russian, so Natasha orders for all three of them and Steve closes his eyes and feels every inch of himself that hurts. Now that he’s sat down the thought of getting up again, even to go check on Bucky, seems like too much effort, which is probably what Natasha and Sam were going for. Steve rubs the back of his neck with his good hand and sighs. “So what now?”

“No comments on Russian food?” Natasha asks.

“Is it good?” Steve knows a trap when he sees one.

“Yes.”

“Then no.” He rotates his shoulder slightly and winces. The feelings other than pain are starting to come back and he’s not sure he likes it. “So what now?”

“Clean up will come through and get the gas permanently contained. Stark’s company will study it.” Sam shrugs. “We keep doing what we do.”

“And Stark’s altruistic nature is going to keep anyone from using the gas? Even us?”

“Yes.” Sam’s voice is flat to Steve’s mocking tone. “He’s one of the good guys. He fought hard to be one.”

“Okay. Sorry.” Steve smiles his thanks as the waitress pours him a cup of coffee. “So do we know if Fury’s going to send me back to Afghanistan?”

“Ask him yourself. Scoot over.” Steve slides closer to the wall so that Fury can slide onto the booth next to him. “I’ve got good news and bad news, which means the answer to your question is no.”

“Is it going to involve fighting?” Natasha sounds tired, but she looks like she’s ready to go immediately.

“The good news doesn’t. The good news says that we managed to get everything contained and neutralized before the shell of Stark’s bubble wore off. Stark claimed it before the government could, so it is officially non-existent. Stark’s also working on the vaccine that the virus actually promised to be.”

“That is good news.” Sam kicks Steve under the table to prove his point about Tony. 

“What’s the bad news?”

“We finally reached the end of the line.” Fury looks at Natasha and then sidelong at Steve. “We know where the order for this all came from.”

“And?”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s not Bucky. Don’t even try to tell me that.”

“Worse.” Fury sighs and signals for his own cup of coffee and orders a shot of whiskey as well when it’s delivered. “We have to bring down the president.”

“What?”

“Pierce. Goddamned cocky son-of-a-bitch. Enlisted me to do the job and tried to pull it off right under my nose. How am I supposed to trust someone if I can’t trust old war buddies?” He takes a sip of the coffee then gives it up when the whiskey comes. “I’ve got a unit set to go. But I’m afraid there’s going to be some people who are loyal to him, even in the secret service. Maybe all of them. So it ain’t gonna be easy.”

Sam blows out a breath. “Nothing ever is.”

“What are the odds he knows we know?” Natasha tosses money onto the table and says something in Russian to the waitress who nods and then shrugs. 

“Hard to say without knowing who’s loyal. We have to assume everyone’s on his side.”

“We have proof he’s behind this?” When Fury nods, she pulls out her phone and texts something. “Well then. We’ve got a half hour to get to the residence. Let’s go.”

Steve rides in the back of the SUV with Natasha, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “Do you intend to tell any of us your plan?”

“You’re going to go in and tell Mrs. Pierce that her only son is dead. He died saving the world.”

“Bucky’s not dead.”

Natasha glances at her watch. “According to the news, he will be in twenty minutes. Which will back us up. She’ll be upset. You’ll pull her out of the room.”

“How does that help?”

“Then she won’t see me shoot her husband.”

“You can’t shoot the president of the United States!”

“No.” She shakes her head and turns her attention to her gun. “I won’t. Give me a little credit, Rogers. I’m the best at what I do.”

“What is it you _do_ do?”

Sam laughs. “Officially? She’s exactly what you see. Unofficially? She’s the best damn assassin on the US payroll.”

“Ahem?”

Sam looks at Natasha and smiles. “She’s the best damn assassin there is.”

“Better.” She glances at Steve, searching for something in his face. He’s not sure if she finds it, he’s too busy being confused. “Don’t tell me you don’t believe the US has hired assassins. You’re a Marine. Your targets are just less high profile than mine are.”

“What if we’re wrong?”

“You’ve met the guy. Do you think we’re wrong?”

“Shitty president is a long way from mass genocide.”

“Huh.” Sam says. “You think that’s what people said about Stalin? Pol Pot?”

“There have been a lot of presidents who were shitty who didn’t decide to kill a third of the population.”

“Not on purpose.” Natasha turns in her seat and looks at Steve. “He’s not just killing people in third world countries. He’s killing everyone in those areas. Animals. Food. Water. He’s poisoning the world. He’s playing God.”

“This is like a comic book.” Steve slumps in his seat. “You’ll wait until Bucky’s mom is out of the room?”

“No witnesses.” 

Steve catches Fury’s eye in the rearview mirror. “And you’re okay with this?”

“I haven’t stopped driving, have I?”

“Kill one or kill millions.” Steve shakes his head. “I hate this part of the job.”

Natasha holsters her gun as Fury pulls up to the residence, nodding to the security detail who open the gate. “Believe it or not,” she says. “I do too.”

Fury doesn’t even have the car parked before Natasha is out and gone. Fury guides the way to the main room. Before they’re halfway there, Natasha’s walking back toward them, her face a neutral blank. Steve knows without question what they’re going to walk in on, but he keeps moving. Natasha falls in line with him, trailing behind Fury and Sam. Steve doesn’t look at her, not sure he can.

“He was alone. The news isn’t going to run the Barnes story.” Steve can feel her gaze on him. “It’s just a job.”

“Is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

Steve stops walking and grabs her arm, letting her go at her look. “We’re supposed to be doing this for something, not just following orders.”

“We just saved a whole lot of lives. Isn’t that something? Or did you want to stand up and be patriotic and remind the world one more time that the United States is the gosh-darned best? We’re as bad as the rest of them, we just hide it better. We saved a lot of lives, Steve. Everything has its cost.” She starts walking again. “Moral superiority is expensive. Look how much it cost Pierce.”

**

There’s not a national period of mourning since the news of Pierce’s involvement in the genocide plot hits before the news of his death does. Natasha’s very good at what she does, though she gives all the credit to Pepper Potts and her media connections. Fury managed to get someone to Bucky’s mom and arranged for a car to take Steve to the hospital. The official story is that the prior attacks were an attempt to stop the president from releasing the gas, and the truth doesn’t weigh on Steve as much as he thought it would.

Bucky doesn’t mention Pierce again, and he and his mom are more than happy to be pushed out of the spotlight. Bucky gets her settled somewhere outside of Washington DC and then finds a place of his own. Press coverage on the plot and the president’s involvement continues to leak, taking a sledgehammer to his reputation thought it seems to have the opposite effect on Bucky’s, and even though his company’s in financial shambles, he’s got offers to get it back up and running before the President is even in the ground. 

Steve doesn’t see him for a few weeks, though even if Bucky had been free, Steve’s been tied up in meetings and briefings and debriefings and interrogations. He considers telling Fury to just send him back to the war zone, since it seems safer and a hell of a lot less complicated, but then he gets a text from Bucky on his phone with an address and a promise to have the door unlocked. Steve barely manages to make it to the end of the meeting before he catches Natasha by the arm. 

“This is done, right? Mission accomplished?”

“Ha! Barnes got in touch, did he?” She tilts her head as if she’s thinking about it, but she’s smiling. “Consider your orders rescinded, Rogers.” Steve takes off and she calls out after him. “But you should still use protection!”

**

The door actually is unlocked, which surprises Steve. “Your door is unlocked!” He clicks the lock behind him. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“If you’re scared, I’ll protect you.”

“That’s my job.” 

“Not anymore, I hope or having you come over is going to be a lesson in frustration.”

Steve heads in the direction of Bucky’s voice, which leads him down the hall to the bedroom. “You.” He shuts the door and leans against it. Bucky’s wearing a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and reading a book, leaning back against the pillows jammed up against the headboard. “You are trouble.”

“Not anymore. We caught the bad guys.” He sets his book down on his nightstand and meets Steve’s gaze.

“I said _are_ trouble. Not are _in_ trouble.” He pushes off the door and starts toward the bed, never looking away from Bucky except for the few seconds it takes to get his shirt over his head. Bucky makes a soft noise and gets to his knees, tugging his own shirt off. 

“You like trouble, Captain Rogers?” He sounds breathless and that makes Steve’s cock even harder. Bucky’s cock is pressing against the front of his sweats, tenting them slightly.

“My job is to solve trouble.” Steve kicks off his shoes then unbuckles his belt, undoing the fly slowly. Bucky’s breath shakes as the zipper slides down. 

“You want to solve me?”

“Don’t think that’s possible.” He stops at the end of the bed, his legs against the mattress. He reaches out and catches the waistband of Bucky’s sweats and tugs on it, guiding it down over his dick. “But I think I might try.”

“Please do.” Bucky shoves his sweats down to his knees then sits back on the bed to get them off completely. He’s not wearing anything beneath them, and Steve smiles hungrily. He reaches out and grabs Bucky’s ankles and pulls, dragging him down closer to him. Bucky’s breath hitches again as Steve puts one knee between Bucky’s parted legs.

Steve leans forward, planting a hand in the middle of Bucky’s chest and holding him down as he reaches over his head. He grabs one of Bucky’s pillows and sets it beside him. “Up.”

Bucky cants his hips upward and Steve pushes the pillow beneath him. Bucky fists his hands in the covers at his side as Steve slides his hands over the cut of Bucky’s hips and down his thighs. Steve pushes Bucky’s legs open wider and Bucky groans softly. “Steve.”

Curving his hand around Bucky’s ankles again, Steve pushes his legs back, knees toward Bucky’s chest. He leans in and turns his head, biting just above Bucky’s knee on the underside of his thigh. Bucky’s breath hitches and Steve bites again, sinking his teeth in and then sucking the skin against his tongue.

Bucky strangles out a groan as Steve adjusts his grip on Bucky’s legs and guides them up over Steve’s shoulders. Steve bites higher this time, the thicker part of Bucky’s thigh, halfway to his hip. Bucky arches up and makes a noise that goes straight to Steve’s cock. Steve takes a deep breath and licks the outline of his teeth embedded in Bucky’s skin. “Should have gagged you.”

“Fuck.”

Steve laughs and bites again. Higher. Harder. “Eventually. If you’re lucky.”

“Goddamn it, Steve.” Bucky digs his heels into Steve’s back to try to pull him closer, but Steve refuses to move. Instead he turns his head and bites the inside of Bucky’s other thigh, grinding his teeth through the skin until Bucky’s head falls back and he cries out.

Steve kisses the red skin and nuzzles at the crease of Bucky’s thigh. Bucky smells like soap and sweat and skin. His dick brushes against Steve’s hair and Bucky rolls his hips. 

“Do something,” Bucky pants.

“I am.” Steve licks the skin up to the curve of Bucky’s hip and then bites at the jutting bone. Bucky slams his head back again and Steve takes advantage of Bucky’s distraction and grabs his wrists, pinning them against Bucky’s sides, knuckles digging into the skin. “Just really slowly.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Mmm. Takes one-” Steve nuzzles at Bucky’s balls and then flicks a tongue over his opening. “To know one.”

Bucky makes a noise at the back of his throat and Steve huffs a laugh that makes the sound go up an octave. He licks a slow circle around the tight muscle before pressing the tip of his tongue against it. Bucky’s muscles clench as he tries to push against Steve’s tongue, but Steve moves it out of the way before he can. He licks up to Bucky’s balls and then hums against the skin before taking them in his mouth.

He presses Bucky’s balls against the roof of his mouth, stroking the underside with his tongue. Bucky’s making noises and pressing his thighs against the side of Steve’s head so everything is muffled. Steve just keeps sucking, knowing spit is slide down Bucky’s skin over his hole. Steve finally pulls off and looks up at Bucky over the hard curve of Bucky’s dick. Pre-come has pooled on Bucky’s stomach, and there’s a strand of it dangling from the tip of his cock. Steve catches the skin of Bucky’s balls between his teeth and scrapes them causing Bucky’s body to jerk hard. 

“Should see yourself.”

Bucky tries to turn his hands in Steve’s grip, but doesn’t manage to do more than twist them slightly. Steve can feel the heat between their skin as his thumb and forefinger tighten, feeling the hard and fast beat of Bucky’s pulse. Bucky’s breathing shallowly, gasping every once in a while in an attempt to get more air. His entire body is flushed and his heels are pressing hard enough into Steve’s back that he’s likely going to have bruises. His own dick is pressed against the bed and it takes everything he has not to grind down against it.

“You should. Have to fuck you in front of a mirror at some point.” Bucky shudders and Steve kisses the base of Bucky’s cock before he moves down again, flicking Bucky’s balls with his tongue before he presses it against Bucky’s opening. This time he doesn’t pull away, licking and tracing the skin until Bucky’s slick with spit then he pushes his tongue in, working with short and shallow licks until Bucky’s hips are arced up and he’s shaking in Steve’s grip.

Steve releases one of Bucky’s wrists and rubs two fingers against the slick wet of Bucky’s opening. Bucky moans and his hand moves to wrap around his cock and Steve flicks his eyes up so he can see the bright red ring around Bucky’s wrists. He takes Bucky’s balls in his mouth again and sucks harder than before. He can feel the hard shudder as Bucky loses control, can feel the jerk in his mouth when Bucky comes. Steve doesn’t stop until Bucky’s mewling helplessly. He’s slumps down onto the bed when Steve releases him, his body relaxed. 

Steve presses his fingers against the puckered skin, pushing them against the muscle to spread Bucky open slightly. Bucky shudders again and Steve slides his tongue between his fingers. When he looks up a few moments later, Bucky’s mouth is open and his lashes are spiked, the trail of a few tears visible on his red face from his eyes to where they disappear into his hair.

Steve kisses the side of Bucky’s dick and then on his stomach. He gets his knees hard against the inside of Bucky’s thighs and reaches over him, pulling out the drawer on one nightstand. He doesn’t see condoms or lube, so he opens the other. Bucky stares at him with wide, dazed eyes as Steve preps his dick, carefully when he puts the condom on to not touch too much, not lose control. 

Bucky’s hands find Steve’s hips, rubbing them erratically as his body continues to shake. Steve lubes the condom and then pushes against Bucky’s hole, the spit-slick skin helping as he slides in. Bucky’s back to gasping, his face red. Steve leans in and kisses him. Bucky tries to respond, but it’s messy and wet and sloppy. Steve takes advantage and buries himself as deep as he can, though he doesn’t last more than a few seconds before he has to start moving.

The bed moves with the force of Steve’s thrusts, but the mattress is too high-quality to squeak though the headboard hits the wall loudly several times. Bucky’s still jacking his dick even thought it’s barely half-hard, his eyes not quite focused. It doesn’t take long before Steve comes, especially once Bucky squeezes himself and tightens the muscles in his ass so Steve is surrounded by pressure. His arms shake and he eases down onto his elbows to keep from falling face-first onto Bucky.

Steve presses his cheek against Bucky’s and they’re both flushed hot. He turns his head and presses a kiss to Bucky’s temple, tasting the faint hint of salt. “Hey.”

“Mmm. Think ‘m solved.”

“Until next time?”

Bucky’s eyes are closed now and he hums softly. “Not sure. I might be dead.”

“Nope. It’s my job to protect your life, remember? Guard your body.”

“With yours?”

Steve smiles and kisses Bucky again, listening to the soft sigh as he sinks back into the pillow, his entire body relaxed. “Yeah. That’s the plan.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Illustrations to "Enemies Foreign and Domestic"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2625245) by [johanirae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johanirae/pseuds/johanirae)




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